Past Poisons
by IWillBeThereWhereYouAre
Summary: 1918. Edward is desperate for the glory of being a soldier. But a visit to a family friend leaves him with something unexpected...love. AU, all human. Please read and review!
1. Abandoned

**Edward said something in Eclipse along the lines that if he had found Bella when he was human, he would've done anything to win her hand. And I've toyed around with the idea of doing an AU where they're all human. So when I should have been studying for finals, I started this. :) I'm going to get back to First Quarter eventually, but I want to branch out a little.**

**Please know this: all the characters (for the most part) will be involved. And I'm taking some liberties (because not all the Cullens were these ages at the same time) but I'm proud of this story so far. Without sounding arrogant, there are some GREAT chapters ahead.**

**Standard disclaimer. I own nothing.**

**Chapter One – Abandoned**

"Eat your supper, Edward."

Her eyes were somnolent, clinging to that quiet desperation, afraid to let it loose. She didn't want me to know how deeply affected she had been by this. Silent suffering always seemed to be her strong suit.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks and he hadn't come back.

My father had always had a violent temper, and lost his patience frequently—a trait he so effortlessly passed onto me. Several times he had made those hollow threats, keeping a suitcase packed by the door. It had been the assumption that he would never actually follow through.

The doorway sat empty, his bed sheets unturned.

She had been strong, insisting that everything would be alright. Her unbridled optimism shone brightly, masking her true sadness. But our thin walls betrayed her façade, revealing her tears for the dark.

I had stopped chewing from my scarce plate, beginning the same argument we had every night for the past two weeks.

"We're not discussing this, Edward." She said, sipping her water glass.

"Mom..."

"No." She said through her gritted teeth. "It's out of the question, Edward. You're finishing school first."

"I don't see the point." I scoffed, setting down my unused fork. "We need the money."

She grimaced. "We'll make do. All of your teachers rave about how bright your future is." Her emerald eyes averted, now distracted with the remains of her mashed potatoes. "I won't let your father take that away, too."

I had never felt such a passionate hate for anything as I did for what that man did to my mother. He had vowed to love her until the end of time, and abandoned us when things turned bad.

I clenched my jaw, suppressing such hateful thoughts from escaping. "I'm the man of the house, now. I should be making my own decisions now."

"You may be a man, but you are still my son." Her fury evaporated quickly, like a small branch tossed into the flames. "I want you to have every happiness I did not have. A good education. A career." She looked down morosely. "A wife, who will love you no matter what you do." A small crack in her pretense appeared. Her eyes swelled with tears. She took one frantic breath. "Edward, promise me."

I forced down another bite. "Promise what?"

"Promise me you won't run off somewhere without telling me first." The crack became a chasm, her face turning pink from the coming tears. "Promise me you'll never leave like your...father..." She gulped heavily on the last word, and I instantly sought to calm her.

I abandoned my place at the table, wrapping my arms around her tiny frame, beginning to shake with tears. "I won't. Mom, I promise. I will never leave you."

"I'm being...selfish! Keeping you around, forcing you to the university. I'm a monster." She sobbed, her whole body trembling in my arms.

"No. You're not being a monster. You're...trying to protect me." In my head, I was calculating. She would need me now that I was under the legal age of service. In a few months I would be 18. She would not be able to control me then. I could satisfy her now, and break her gently to the idea.

And if I could not convince her, I would end up breaking my promise.

* * *

"You're a coward."

Emmett McCarty was never any good at keeping his opinions to himself. He threw the tattered softball to me with his usual ferocity.

"You're 18. You can sign up any time you want."

He shook his head. "We made a deal. I do it, you do it. I'm not going by myself."

I scoffed. "And I am the coward?"

"It's not _cowardice_," He sneered, "I'm trying to give us both the same oppourtunity. I'm thinking only of you, Eddie."

"Don't call me Eddie." I scowled, hating his irritating nickname for me. "And I can't." I looked down, my cheeks burning with shame. I really wished I hadn't decided to share this information. But I had passed the point of no return. "I promised my mother."

Emmett's childish lips shuddered slightly, holding back laughter. "You're such a mama's boy, aren't you Eddie?"

He continued with his taunting for the rest of the afternoon. And I bore it stoically—if he were to know the true motive of the promise, he would shut his imprudent mouth. There were days I wondered how our friendship had managed to last this long before we came to blows. My temper, his juvenility. A match of the century.

"Edward!" My mother called out from the window of our apartment. Suddenly it was if I were five again, being called by my mother to wash up for supper. Emmett departed without a word, chuckling and muttering some insult about me as he walked off.

I ran up the stairs, leaving the humid May evening behind, and returned my mother. I shut the door behind me, each step cautious and deliberate.

"Sit down, Edward. We need to talk."

My hopes rose impulsively. Perhaps she had changed her mine. I could taste the glory of being a soldier, as if it were molasses dangling on my lips. The sweet flavor intoxicated me, blinding me to all rational thought.

She laid down the crumpling piece of paper. "I've received word from a childhood friend of mine. Dr. Cullen." She smiled faintly at his name. "He works in a hospital in Minnesota." She pursed her lips, her face cautious. "And he has invited us to spend the summer with him at his estate."

Silently, she gauged my reaction. I was unsure of how to react. It was if I had forgotten how to feel. I was so blinded by anger, anger that I would not be signing up for the army as I had planned, that I was now filled with complete apathy.

"You're angry." She said, so intuitively. In that moment, I wished she had not been so insightful. Complete blindness seemed nice right about now. "I think it's a lovely idea. Get out of the city, see some new sights. He lives out in the country, it's a beautiful place, or so he says." She chuckled warmly, and returned her gaze to me. "Edward...please tell me what you're thinking. It's driving me insane not knowing."

My voice was small. "I don't care. It's not as if I have any plans for the summer, anyhow."

Normally, she would've pressed the issue. Delved deeper. Try and figure out what the true problem. But she had been so captivated by the notion of this vacation, she did not care to prod any futher. She had gotten the answer she had wanted.

"We're leaving in two weeks." She stated, rising from her seat. Now her face was lightened by a brilliant smile. For the first time in two weeks, she had been truly happy. As if there was no empty doorway, no unturned bedsheets.

And I were to rob her of that happiness, I would truly be the most selfish monster.

I resigned myself to silent torture, hardly my strong suit. I would endure this summer visit, for my mother's sake. Even if it killed me.

**So...what did you think? Liked it? Hated it? Wanted to vomit a little? Your opinion matters!! :) If it sucks, tell me. I won't be hurt.**


	2. Influx

**Chapter Two – Influx**

The night was cool, normal for a summer night to be. It was our first night in Minnesota, on Lake Pokegama. Sleep had eluded me for hours, turning restlessly in some stranger's bed. When our train had arrived earlier today, it wasn't Dr. Cullen who greeted us, but his uncle, Mr. Crowley—the proprietor of this estate. I was hardly content that I would not meet the illustrious Dr. Cullen—the one whose story I had heard endlessly on the train ride—until the morning. His excuse was pliable, but I remained unnecessarily upset. My homesickness only fueled this annoyance.

So for numerous reasons, sleep evaded my advances. In my restless state, I tossed and turned until something resembling rest arrived. Its hold was hardly capable of clinging to me. It didn't take much to wake me up again.

But then a beautiful voice, a siren's song, called from the window. I clamored from my nearly wakeful state to see the source. In the soft moonlight, across the lake, her face was all I could see.

And it was the most beautiful face I had ever seen. Her pale cheeks shimmered in the light, gracefully smooth as she smiled softly. The white train of her dress fanned out in the water, framing her perfect figure. Even from this far away, I knew she was perfect.

Without restraint, I dashed down the stairs, through the lobby, through the front door. From the yard, she was still there. My beautiful angel, waiting there for me, in her effervescent splendor.

I was drawn to her. It was as if all laws of gravity ceased to exist, and she was the center of my universe. Each step I took towards her perfect silhouette, I felt closer and closer to complete and utter happiness. I called out to her, taking more frantic steps, desperate for her name.

She looked at me one last time, her brown eyes sparkling. And before I could process another thought, she turned and simply walked away.

I ran. I ran towards the edge of the water, and even the aquatic barrier wouldn't stop me. I trudged through the water until it was has high as my waist. It was all in vain.

The beautiful girl was gone. My heart deflated...

And then I woke up.

A dream. I had dreamed up the most perfect creature in existence. My imagination had betrayed me, and as I lay in a complete stranger's bed, I longed for that illusion.

Still unable to sleep, I made my way back outdoors, walking to the edge of the water. Perhaps my subconscious was hoping that illusion would return, only in reality. Only where I could touch her, feel her, love her. She lingered in my thoughts, though I did not even know who she was.

And then suddenly my life felt empty, incomplete. I was missing something essential, one last piece to the puzzle. Back home in Chicago, I had never once felt the attraction to any of the girls. While Emmett and his boorish friends chased them endlessly, I never coveted that position. I had been so concerned about growng up, becoming a man, supporting my mother. Maybe that is the reason I fantasized such a beautiful creature—I had missed out on some experience.

Was I too late? Had my perfect match, my soul mate, passed me by? In my seemingly uninterested state, had my one true chance at pure happiness bypassed me?

It all seemed irrational. My only hunger was not for love, but for battle. The glory of being a hero. Marriage was illogical—look where it got my mother. Thirty six and abandoned. No, I was not meant for love. _That _was my reality. No figment of my daydreams would sway that.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Startled, I turned around to see a dark shadow creeping towards me.

"You must be Edward."

Lit up by the soft moonlight, my mother's descriptions personified themselves in this man, no older than 30. He sauntered towards me, his blonde hair tossing gently in the soft drafts.

"Dr. Cullen." I stood up, offering him my hand, a very formal greeting.

"Please call me Carlisle. They call me Dr. Cullen at the hospital and when you hear it 12 hours a day, you become sick of hearing it." He chuckled warmly, and I felt slightly more at ease in his presence. "I'm very sorry I wasn't able to greet you and your mother when your train arrived, but Dr. Black called in sick and there was nothing I could do to avoid it."

"It's alright." I muttered. "Your uncle seems friendly."

He laughed, traces of bitterness in that sound. "You clearly haven't lived with him." He cleared his throat, the disdain escaping with the cough. "I suppose I shouldn't disparage the man. He did get me the job, the house, and the car..."

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. Was I to judge both men based on my limited knowledge? Based on their history, an ambiguity to me?

"It's nice out tonight." Carlisle declared, resting his hands on his hips, looking out over the water. "Are you a swimmer, Edward?"

I shook my head. Most sports I was average at, but swimming eluded me. Holding my breath underwater was difficult.

"Me neither." He chuckled. "I was always more of the studious type."

"Music was my thing." The past tense bothered me. Music had always been my passion, whether it was playing or listening. But limited family funds regulated that pursuit.

His eyes illuminated with something. An idea, a scheme—I couldn't interpret it. "Your mother tells me you used to play piano every day. Do you still play?"

"Not anymore. We had to sell our piano." I cleared my throat, those biting memories instantly coming back to me. My father's brutal words slapped against the walls of my head with a resonating crack. "It wouldn't feed us or keep us warm, he would say."

I mimicked those words perfectly.

"Did my uncle show you the basement?"

I shook my head, and that scheming in his eyes intesntified instantly.

* * *

"I'll get you a lantern or something down here, so you can come down more frequently." Carlisle said, a dull orange flame flickering from behind dusty glass. He led me through the catacombs, through thick veils of cobwebs and dust. Its musky scent nearly choked me at first, but soon it became somewhat manageable. A few good sweepings would help, no doubt.

We stopped abruptly at an open room. An open room that had openly seen better days. Fine balls, dances, camaraderie, laughter. Now it hosted spiders and grime. My steps slowed as Carlisle escorted me across the old oak floors. Against one of the walls rested a piano, quite old and its dust collection like moss covering it.

"My dear aunt, rest her soul, loved playing this for company. I can remember visiting their grandiose parties, even as a child." His eyes sparkled in the darkness with reminiscent. Somehow, his smile was infectious and I caught it readily. "Now that's she's passed, my uncle refuses to even come down here."

I trailed my hand along the cover, thickets of grime soon revealing teal colored wood. With extreme caution and slight awe, I lifted the lid, revealing perfectly white and black keys. Sharply, I became overly wary, as if one touch from my hands would crumble the relic.

"Go on. It won't bite." Carlisle's words were warm and comforting.

At his counsel, I sat down on the bench with caution. A deep breath gave me more confidence.

As I pressed the keys down, an influx of old and new feelings returning at once. I no longer felt homesick, but rather relaxed in the comforting sound of keystrokes. Each note sounded more poised than the first, and soon it was as if I had never taken a sabbatical—I was still thirteen years old and discovering my love for its harmonious sound.

As I played the last few chords, Carlisle clapped slowly and heedlessly. "You are too modest."

I carefully closed the lid, allowing the black and white keys to rest quietly for the night. "I was raised under the impression that boasting was discourteous."

Carlisle scoffed. "If I had your talent, it would not be considered discourteous to show it off."

I merely shrugged. "Are you sure it's alright that I play this? Your uncle..."

"That old kook couldn't play two notes without the assistance of a trained pianist, such as yourself. Beethoven would turn in his grave if he, or I, were to attempt to employ that piano." He ran his fingers along the smooth cover. Dust collected quickly on his hand. "As you can see, the antique is never used. It is better someone uses it before it crumbles away." We both laughed nervously, taking deep breaths of musky air in along the way.

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen." I whispered. I'd always been raised to decline most acts of charity, and when I did accept them, it made me feel exceptionally uncomfortable. "Carlisle." I added, as he had grimaced at the title _Doctor Cullen_.

He headed towards the stairwell, setting the lantern on the last step. "I'm off to bed. Please stay down here as long as you'd like."

With another hospitable smile in my direction, he turned and traipsed up the stairway. In the dark basement, I did not feel anxious or afraid. There was something comforting about it. Familiar. I sat back at the piano, reawakening the quiescent keys. I took one deep, dust-marinated breath and began again.

My homesickness subsided wholly with each peaceful note played.

* * *

I spent countless hours down on that piano, revisiting old music I had once memorized. And the next morning I paid dearly for it. Bright noon sunlight flooded my new room as I woke up.

My mother laughed eagerly as I stumbled into the kitchen, still overwhelmed by exhaustion. "Good morning. Or should I say, good afternoon?" She poured herself another cup of tea, her favorite morning tradition.

I could hear Carlisle's chuckle in the background, and took a seat across the table from him. Embarassment overcame me. My cheeks burned violently with it.

But Carlisle defended me. "It's summer. Besides, I was the one who showed him the piano. If you long to blame anyone, I believe it belongs to me."

"Is that true?" She said, taking another chair at the long cherry wood dining table. Shame intensified in my stomach, though it was hardly the appropriate reaction. I nodded solemly. "And you were worried you wouldn't like it here." She chimed in, chirpily.

"Your Uncle?" I asked, my voice choked from sleep. I had first noted his absence as I was walking past his empty study. But I merely assumed he'd be in the kitchen.

"He usually spends his days in town, hobnobbing with the bankers and lawyers." Carlisle spoke between sips of tea.

"I do not believe I've mentioned it yet, but Carlisle, your estate is absolutely breathtaking." My mother always taught me that gratitude was an essential character trait.

Carlisle shifted around, uncomfortably.

The estate was vast—far larger than a surgeon in these times would make, I presumed. My curiosity on the money matter got the best of me. "Do you really earn this much money working at the hospital?"

Mom's head buried with shame, her cheeks a violent red. Carlisle merely chuckled, a warm and welcoming sound. I suddenly felt less uncomfortable.

"This is was my aunt's home, and when she passed she left it to me." He seemed embarrassed by the concept of being prosperous. "Her inheritance was quite generous, but my true love still remains the hospital. I wouldn't give that up for anything."

I suddenly had more respect for the man. He had been handed a tremendous amount of wealth, yet he wanted to help others. Noble, I think is the word for it.

"Now, I must ask. You are twenty seven, aren't you?" My mother asked softly, and Carlisle nodded in agreement. "Are you engaged to be married yet?"

A sore spot, evident in his sullen expression. "Like I said, my only love is the hospital."

Deep in his eyes, I could tell that it was hardly the truth. There was someone who caught his eye. But there was an obstacle. Perhaps another man, perhaps ages. I had no idea which.

Before my mother could even begin contemplating matchmaking, I decided now was a time to leave. "I'm going to play for a while, if you'll excuse me."

I bowed out gracefully, and was on the way towards the cellar door when I felt Carlisle's hand stop me.

"Wait. There's something I'd like to show you outside."

* * *

We were standing out near the lake, just as we had been last night, only now we stood slightly closer towards the dirt road that stretched from here until town. If Carlisle did not have that specific eager look in his eyes, I would've questioned his intentions. Instead, I waited for whatever really brought us out here.

"It's absolutely gorgeous when the sun hits it...just right..."

His eyes shifted quickly from the water, a boring sight, to a growing shape in the distance. It strode towards us gracefully, and I realized that it was a human. A woman, to be more specific, judging by the skirt and flowing brown hair.

"Miss Platt." Carlisle blushed.

"Dr. Cullen!" She said amiably, clutching a wicker basket filled with a variety of colorful flowers under her arm. When she was finally within range, she curtsied and stopped before us. "I didn't realize you had company. Is this your cousin Tyler?"

Carlisle shook his head. "No, this is my dear friend Elizabeth Masen's son, Edward." He paused, trembling with... nerves? Miss Platt curtsied again for my benefit, evidently. "His mother used to care for me as a child, and I've invited them to stay with me for the summer."

"That's charming. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Masen." Miss Platt was certainly an attractive woman, presumably about Carlisle's age. She had caramel hair, though it was tied back, pieces fell and framed her pale face. No wonder Carlisle was so intimidated.

"Edward." I corrected her curtly, but she barely flinched.

"Alright, Edward. I am Miss Platt, but please call me Esme. I cannot convince your friend here to do the same. Perhaps you could persuade him." She rectified, though I doubt she would be less than lax on formalities. "I'm afraid I'm all out of sunflowers today. You know how demanding Mrs. Newton can be." She and Carlisle laughed together, leaving me in the dark of the town gossip.

"It's alright." Carlisle replied, digging through his pockets. "I'll just take some of your lilies, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all." Esme replied, the same meekness Carlisle possessed now obvious in her voice. She reached into her basket, retrieving a small bunch of white flowers and handed them, trembling, to Carlisle. "You are the only unmarried man who buys flowers from me, Dr. Cullen."

Carlisle smiled embarrassed, like he'd been caught. He handed her a silver coin with that sheepish grin still visible. "My patients..." The rest of the words eluded him. The space between them was taut with unspoken words and hidden passion.

"Alright, I must carry on." Esme said, breaking the tension reluctantly. She shifted her basket to a more comfortable position, and began walking off towards town. Carlisle's gaze was still on Esme as she waved and strode off.

"There wasn't anything you wanted to show me, was there?" I asked, thoroughly amused. He was still watching her so intently.

"She sells those flowers to support her family, walking to town, stopping a few places along the way." He kicked his feet, still mesmerized by her presence. "Seeing Miss Platt truly is the light of my day." He whispered faintly. "Can I confide something in you, Edward?"

I nodded immediately. Somehow, I had already felt a bond with the man.

"If it weren't for my uncle's constant insistence I marry someone as wealthy as he is, I would ask Esme to be my wife." His voice was so small, yet so passionate. "Of course, I've heard James has already offered her marriage, to no response."

"So there's hope." I offered. "Carlisle, I'm hardly the expert in love here. But if Esme makes you happy, I think you should pursue it."

"Thank you for coming out with me." He did not sound twenty seven when he spoke. He sounded more like a thirteen year old boy, his first real love doing wonders on his esteem. "I'm afraid she'll think I'm absolutely crazy, buying flowers from her all the time."

I slapped him on the back playfully, making my ways back towards the house. "Frankly, the only way you'd be crazy is if you _weren't _in love with her already."

It was then I realized that perhaps this summer might be more interesting than I'd first anticipated.

**So... theories on who the beautiful girl Edward dreamed about?? I've got links up on my profile for reference. I can't promise the next update will be in the next few weeks...i've got a ton of things going on. But I can promise that it will be soon. So please review anyways!**


	3. Dinner Party

**Chapter Three – Dinner Party**

"You will never guess who I ran into at the market today." My mother exclaimed one morning, having returned from her trip to get groceries. As she stormed through the doors she had that breathless look of wonder in her eyes. Carlisle barely looked up from his medical journal, and I did not look up from my novel.

"Who?" I asked after a long silence, playing into her game. Carlisle was certainly doing more noteworthy research than I was at this point. I was saving him the triviality.

"Charlie Swan." She said with rampant amusement. The name held no significance to me, but I suppose it did to Carlisle.

"Oh yes, he's sheriff around here." Carlisle grinned crookedly, still looking with diligent intent on his reading. I departed my gaze briefly from my own studies to see their exchange. Nostalgia glimmered in their eyes.

"He looks exactly the same, only a little less hair on top of his head." She giggled, her youth swiftly recaptured. "We spoke for quite a while, and I invited him and his daughter to dinner. I do hope you don't mind."

Carlisle shrugged, finally escaping the clutch of his studies. "I didn't realize Isabella was in town. Luckily tonight is my night off. An evening with the Swans sounds nice."

That tolerance Carlisle possessed right now eluded me. Stiff dinners with complete strangers. I shuddered at the thought.

"Oh, relax Edward." She shook me from my presentiment. "Isabella is your age, and she's a delightful girl."

My mother's definition of delightful hardly resembled my own.

"Wonderful." I muttered under my breath. While my mother chattered about dinner plans, what to cook, how to prepare, I threw my book under my shoulder and made my way outside.

There would be more peace out there, and a much more noble achievement than indoors.

* * *

A cool breeze came in from the west, sifting through the leaves, rustling my book pages. This serene quiet soothed me, kept me patient. This was not for my benefit, but for Carlisle's. Dr. Cullen, in his undying courage when it came to medical procedures, was absolutely terrified of talking to Miss Platt. Esme, as she preferred to be called, had similar feelings of shyness.

I knew it would not be a coincidence when he appeared a few minutes into our conversation. He felt it would be conspicuous if he were always waiting outside for her to stop by. So he concocted this little ruse for his own security. I would sit outside, long enough to start a conversation, and Carlisle would jump in.

It was endearing watching how timid they would act around each other, though both knew how in love they were. Both were too terrified to make the first move.

And I ended up their mediator. Lucky me.

Right on time, Esme appeared. "Mr. Masen!" She called, her slim figure slinking towards me fast. "Beautiful weather today, don't you think?" Her peaceful eyes lingered gratuitously up at the perfect azure sky.

I closed my book, the pages ruffling one last time in protest, and I gave her my most sincere smile. "It is! How are you today, Miss Platt?"

"Wonderful." She sighed languorously, her gaze fixed on the house. It did not take me long to figure out that the source of her good mood was not the weather, but a certain blonde doctor now making his way outside.

"Edward, your mother is...Oh, Miss Platt! I didn't know you were here." Carlisle exclaimed once he was within range. I bit my tongue to hold back the laughter at his blatancy. Acting was not his strong suit, evidently.

"It's Esme, and I was just talking weather with your visitor." She smiled so sweetly, it was hard not to grow enamored with her pure beauty. "I'm afraid this is only a visit of leisure, Mrs. Newton was being very fastidious...important company, I suppose." Her normally ample basket sat under her arm empty.

The joy radiating off of Carlisle was overwhelming. On the bright side, it made being near him congenial. It was suddenly as if my life's mission was to bring these two together. Carlisle's happiness was valuable at the moment.

Inspiration struck. We were already having company tonight, and since it was hopeless for me to enjoy myself, we might as well make _someone _happy. While Miss Platt was busy examining the clouds, rambling about the fortunate luck for her gardens, I nudged Carlisle. He looked startled, confused to what I was insinuating.

"Invite her_._" I whispered, not capturing the attention of Esme.

He picked up the hint, and cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm glad you stopped by. I was wondering…" He began weakly, but as soon as the words came out, his confidence disintegrated. With panic in his eyes, he looked at me seeking assurance.

"What Carlisle is trying to ask, is if you'd care to join us for dinner this evening. We are having a bit of a party, I supposed." I chuckled, and Carlisle smiled innocently.

Miss Platt's smile was polluted with acrimony. "I would love to, but my cousin is visiting. I would hate for her to feel abandoned by her favorite older cousin."

"You can bring her as well." I responded immediately. "I'm sure we can fit one more at your large table, don't you?" I looked to Carlisle, confident that he would not mind the extra company. Not if it meant he'd get the evening with his beloved Esme.

"The more the merrier." He choked out, an irrepressible grin on his face.

"Alright. We will be here. Good day, gentlemen." With a curtsy and a smile, she ran off, half skipping.

Carlisle probably could've flown back to the house, he was that thrilled. And somehow, both their anticipation made me giddy by association.

It still didn't take away my dread for this evening.

The rest of my afternoon was very pensive for me, still contemplating my motives for playing matchmaker with Carlisle and Esme. Why was it so important that these two, relatively strangers to me, end up together? Why was their happiness so crucial to my existence now?

Maybe I was feebly hoping that bringing them together would make my own match appear.

I only had a few more weeks to last. And then I would be 18, a legal adult. Capable of making my own decisions for once. I could get far away from this loneliness. Distract myself from these imprudent ambitions.

Only a few more weeks of this solitude. I could manage.

* * *

As I tightened the tie Carlisle had allowed me to borrow, it felt strangely like a noose. An evening with the town's sheriff. Even worse, his daughter. My experience with family friends' children was that they all were selfish, stuck up, and self-involved.

The incident with Mr. and Mrs. Stanley stuck out vividly in my mind.

Father went to school with Mr. Stanley, and insisted that I should spend time with his old mate's daughter, Jessica. My age, he claimed. Delightful girl, my mother insisted.

After fifteen minutes of conversation on how beautiful her perfect new earrings that matched her perfect new dress, I wanted to find the nearest gun and end my misery.

Jessica stopped bothering me once she got the clue that I wasn't interested. Mr. Stanley usually took my father out, spending their diminutive paychecks on booze, instead of stuffy dinners like my mother enjoyed. And my father, well, he proved his loyalty to his family quite radically.

A knock on the door jarred me from my thoughts. My mother, looking dressed up for the first time in who knows how long, stepped through the door. Her lips were pursed with absolute impatience. "Edward, our guests are arriving." Her tone proved that theory.

With a deep breath, I stepped into the hallway, into certain doom.

"This is my daughter, Isabella. She's been staying with her grandmother on her mother's side in Florida for the school year. I finally convinced her to spend the summer with me here."

A deep, raucous voice explained from around the corner, out of sight. I had only a few steps of safety until this evening truly began. If my mother hadn't been right down the hall, I could've ran and escaped. Holed myself in my room, or fled to the cellar with the piano... I glanced over my shoulder, and saw that disapproving glare. The kind that killed all hope of flight.

Begrudgingly, I turned the corner, bringing our company into my direct line of vision.

And then it was like all the wind rushed out of me, leaving me dizzy and motionless.

Time became flexible, and like I was moving in slow motion. Each step was lingering, and thoughtless in action. Motion was not something I could focus on any longer. Nor breathing, or even thinking.

The _delightful_ girl, in all her glory, was my diversion.

Long chocolate curls delicately framed her pale face. Her eyes were pensive as she stood silently, shifting awkwardly with all the attention on her. There was the most delicious shade of pink as she blushed with every word her father uttered about her.

But it was her face...the beauty it possessed, that reminded me of my first night here. That exquisite siren that called to me in my dream. This was that girl that left me longing.

I was, instantly, unequivocally, and irreversibly enamored with her.

Her quiet eyes caught me gazing at her—the rose color in her cheeks intensified, and she ducked the gaze away as quickly as I did.

I suppose it wasn't very polite of me to stare like that.

"Good evening, Mr. Masen." She curtsied, her gentle voice sounding like the most beautiful of music. She already knew my name. My heart soared at the sound of those words she had uttered.

"You must be the Edward I could not get Lizzie to stop talking about!" The tall man, I assumed to be Sheriff Swan from my mother's balding description, spoke loudly. Enthusiastically.

I grinned sheepishly. "I am."

His grip on his beautiful daughter tightened, and her face scrunched up in awkwardness. "This is my daughter, Isabella."

She grimaced slightly at the sound of her name. My best guess remained she did not appreciate being thrust into the spotlight. She shifted around until there was space between them.

I knew I should not have been staring. But I was still bewitched by her beauty. For one moment, our gazes caught. Once she realized that I was looking at her, she turned a delightful shade of pink, and her eyes darted back towards the floor. It was apparent to all rational people in the room that she was just as introverted as I was, especially with meeting new people.

But I was not rational--I was still bewitched by her beauty.

Carlisle cleared his throat, his eyes attached to the door. Impatiently. Very obviously impatient. "Our other guests should be arriving shortly."

"Other company?" Sheriff Swan asked, a hint of offense in his tone.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Carlisle's smile grew exponentially as he ran to answer the door.

Esme looked beautiful, as she always did, but tonight was different. She was very polished in comparison to her disheveled appearance I had grown accustomed to in our few meetings. She introduced her cousin, Miss Alice Brandon, in a very timid voice. Miss Brandon was a very petite girl, with long dark hair and wide eyes. She examined the room like a little child would, and she certainly was small enough to look like a child.

Shortly after our other guests arrived at the house, we were all seated in the formal dining room. The room I had not yet become acquainted with. To my absolute luck, I was seated next to Miss Swan. Being in close proximity with her felt like being jolted a thousand times with electricity. Only instead of excruciating pain jolting throughout me, it was pure excitement.

She pierced one green bean with her fork, and slipped it into her mouth effortlessly. I had to remind myself of the motions of eating. Mashed potatoes went down tastelessly; it was difficult to focus on anything other than her.

Sheriff Swan began to speak. "I must say, the way Lizzie spoke of you Edward, I was surprised she wasn't showing you off in town."

I was confused by this, but my mother laughed warmly.

"You know I'm not the kind to brag." Her voice was teasing, and her eyes sparkled with long-forgotten happiness. In Chicago, she was a poor, lonely, and abandoned wife. A fish out of water. Here, she felt at home.

"Still, there isn't much excitement for a young man, cooped up—he needs some adventure. Some entertainment."

"I'm plenty entertained." I spoke quietly, trying to disguise the indignant tone. Not gallivanting around town did not mean I was not amused. It most certainly was not a character flaw, by any means.

"He hardly ever leaves the piano. I'm amazed he ever gets away to sleep." My mother defended, that teasing still present.

"Perhaps a little later Edward could perform for us." Carlisle spoke softly

"You play piano?" Miss Swan asked, a hint of curiosity. It seemed like an obvious statement after the previous testimonials.

The others chewed their food quietly. Suddenly, Sheriff Swan had a most peculiar look on his face. An abrupt flash of intuition.

"Lizzie..." He cleared his throat. The silverware clanged loudly as he sat down his fork. "Say, I wonder if your son here would be interested in making some spending money? I have been meaning to get Isabella into piano lessons, and I just cannot seem to find anyone in town that is available."

Even though he turned to my mother for approval, I knew it was ultimately my decision.

And that brought a smile to my face like I had never felt before. Visions of quality time alone with the most beautiful girl in the world flashed before me. "I would love to."

My pleasure did not seem to mirror Miss Swan's. The muscles in her face quickly became taut—as if she were trying very hard not to frown right now. But her arms crossed her chest, folding there angrily. Sheriff Swan paid no attention, smiling with total satisfaction, continuing to saw at his meat. Miss Swan's already slow chewing stalled. Maybe she thought her eating was un-lady like, not that I, or anyone else at the table, worried. She was of perfect proportion.

I refocused on my two simple, yet very overwhelming, tasks: eating and not staring.

* * *

Steadily, all the food was devoured, except for Miss Swan's plate. That remained fairly full, thanks to her unhurried eating. She was motionless and quiet, as Esme's cousin had remained as well. So quiet, I had almost forgotten her presence.

It was when she spoke up, tugging at her father's sleeve and interrupting the reminiscent conversation, that I remembered her existence.

"Can we please leave, I am exhausted." Her excuse was paper-thin and nearly see-through. But Sheriff Swan accepted it, and the two departed. As they said their goodbyes, I saw something in her expression. It was brief, but it was there—a cross glare from Miss Swan. In her eyes, there was a pithy but flaming anger I had not seen. And it was pointed in my direction.

It passed long before I could interpret it any further.

They had barely made it out the door when I noticed the small white kerchief that Sheriff Swan had handed to Miss Swan at some point during the dinner. It rested in a small, white clump on her chair. Since they were still within range, my gentlemanly instincts kicked in. If I had left behind a personal affect at someone's home, I certainly would want to have it returned promptly.

In all honesty, I wanted one last glimpse of the beautiful Miss Swan.

I excused myself, as my mother and Miss Brandon began tending to the numerous dishes, conspicuously giving Esme and Carlisle some time alone. I pushed through the front door, my knees trembling. My heart thudded loudly, so loudly I was sure the soundless night would be filled with its throbbing. Perhaps this was how Carlisle felt whenever Esme was on the horizon.

From the bottom step, I could hear their barely distant conversation, yet I could see nothing. They could not see me, either, I suppose. They made no acknowledgement of my presence.

Her voice was piercing and whining, the way most young women are when they're cross. "Why? I thought we'd given up on the foolish concept piano lessons."

"Quiet. There was no official decision, and now it is."

"But I don't _want _to." The whininess increased dramatically.

"You loved the clarinet. Does this have something to do with Lizzie's son, Edward?"

Her long silence spoke leagues for her. There was something wrong with me, that made her so angry, she would rather argue with her father than spend one hour a week with me.

I slammed through the door, far too occupied with my calculations and sudden self-loathing to hold a conversation. Had she been so disgusted by my overexcitement? My tremendous enthusiasm in teaching her? Maybe she believed my staring was malicious, and not the captivated glare I had intended it to be. I had been so foolish tonight, and it was no wonder she hated me so dearly. But perhaps it wasn't my fault at all. Perhaps all the blame remained squarely on her perfect shoulders.

Irregardless, the angel from my dreams had turned my summer vacation into a nightmare, in only one silence.

And I could not wake from it.

**Reviews?? insert cute puppy dog eyes**


	4. Lesson

**Chapter Four – Lesson**

She arrived promptly at eight thirty that morning, and the difference in her appearance was quite noticeable. Her dress was less formal than her wardrobe at the dinner party. It was an odd shade of orange, but with a face as beautiful as hers, it did not matter. And her hair, which had been down that night, was now up, except for the occasional loose strand falling gently across her alabaster cheek. I had thought of her many times since the dinner party, and my memory did her beauty no justice.

Still, her beauty meant nothing. She absolutely loathed the idea of spending time with me.

"Good morning, Mr. Masen." She curtsied, her voice rigid with formality.

Mr. Masen was something they called my father. As if he were deserving of their civility. "I really must insist you call me Edward, Miss Swan."

She scoffed, though hardly bitterly. "If you are insisting on informal greetings, then you shall call me Bella. There are few people who refer to me by my first name, and all of them use my full name. If one more person outside my familiarity calls me Isabella, I'm going to explode. Shall I call you Ed?"

This was the first time she had ever really spoken more than two words to me at once. The sudden outburst was disorientating.

"Edward is fine." She pursed her lips in disapproval, but did not press the matter. I led her towards the piano room with silent command. I did not have to ask her to, she merely followed. "Do you know how to read sheet music?" I asked, terrified of the answer. Knowing my luck, I would have to explain the basics of it all.

"Yes. At my mother's insistence, I took clarinet lessons for many years."

"And now, at your father's insistence, you are attempting piano lessons." My voice trailed off before more accusations could be thrown at her.

"I am no pushover, Mr. Masen." Her voice was so rigid; her formality validated that. "But frankly, I find squandering hours in my empty house when my father's away to be quite lonesome."

I half-smiled, relating to the lonesomeness. "I meant you no offense, Miss Swan.

"Wonderful. We're back to Mr. and Miss again." She muttered under her breath, annoyed. She sounded like she was seventeen, and not the thirty year old that had just spoken.

"You started it, Miss Swan." I tagged on the bane to further my point. It worked—her cheeks smoldered with red anger. "Bella."

That satiated her slightly.

The room was slightly less dark and dusty, thanks to some assistance from my mother. I had not noticed how much dust had settled into my own chest in the two weeks I had inhabited in this room, but she _insisted _that a young lady would notice.

She seated herself, slouching over the piano, looking bewildered and afraid.

"So." She took a deep breath. "What do I do now?"

"We'll start with the basics of posture." I declared, noting that her petite figure was horribly misshapen for proper piano technique. "You want to keep your arms at a 90 degree angle with the keys." I mimicked that pose, my elbows bent properly. She imitated, her tiny bones forming a perfect 90 degree bend. "You want to keep your wrists flat, not raised..." I continued pantomiming these flaws, to discourage the behavior. "Or sunken. It should feel very natural."

Her wrists remained level and absolutely perfect.

"Your torso. It should be slightly bent over the keys." Her body rocked back and forth, trying to find that position I was trying to describe. Her efforts were futile; the position couldn't be found immediately. "Bend at the waist. You want to use your weight to your advantage while playing.

I took a step back, to examine her posture. My eyes lingered a little longer than necessary on the loveliness of her petite frame on the piano bench.

"Okay..." The entire time, she had taken in every word. Her fingers twitched towards the keys, itching to try. Desperate to have that feeling of cold ivory underneath her hands. "Can I touch them?"

At ease now, I laughed. "I doubt you'll get any playing done if you don't _touch _them."

Her face puckered into a frown for a second, but she persevered. Like a small child with a new toy, one finger approached the key cautiously. A low tone sent ripples of sound through the empty room, and she withdrew immediately. Fear filled her eyes.

"It's not going to bite. I promise." I whispered in her ear, trying not to laugh impolitely. "Use small finger movements, and don't lift your fingers off the key. Just remove the pressure."

She returned to proper form, trying to be a good student, and endeavored at pressing another key. It was fascinating the more she discovered the piano sounds. The sound she was creating was not very good. The most accurate description would be terrible. This would be difficult, teaching her to play.

Before I could continue on to notes and their places, she abruptly stopped and looked at me. Her brown eyes were wide with excitement. "I want to see you play."

It took me a moment to restructure all the chaotic thoughts in my mind. Her voice, when using spoken words, had the tendency of making me very scatterbrained very quickly.

"What shall I play for you? I spoke slowly, afraid to stumble on the words. All my confidence with teaching had disintegrated by now—I was trembling.

She leaned in very close, her sweet face a few inches from mine. And she smiled brilliantly. "Surprise me."

I stole a deep breath, hunting for a good song selection. Something not too grandiose, but nothing that made myself seem boastful.

I settled for my first composition. It was a slow and pensive piece, fairly simple. As I recalled the melody, I could remember the look of enchantment and pride that made my mother's eyes sparkle like emeralds. I focused on the music coursing throughout me, and not the analytical glare of the beautiful girl on my side. I finished flawlessly.

Instead of applause, she looked at me confused. Perplexed. "Play something else." She insisted, shaking her head and biting her full bottom lip. Her lips moved wordlessly in contemplation. "I'm trying to figure something out."

"What?" My own confusion was overpowering.

"Either you are much better than you want me, or yourself, to believe. In that case, it's modesty. Or..."

"Or...?" I repeated, my temper flaring up.

"Or you are merely an average player with a knack for teaching."

My temper went from a smoldering ember to a full flame. Who was she to accuse me of mediocrity? That composition was no Mozart, but it was not a beginner's piece! I would like to see her, so suddenly smug, endeavor to play it.

That rage prompted me to begin playing again. My absolute favorite Debussy piece.

Each note drew me further away from her approval and closer towards nirvana. This was my happy place. The melody disconnected me from reality, and before long my fingers were moving without thought. Without attention from me. I allowed myself to be engulfed in the rapture of the song. My burning rage extinguished itself.

I did not realize how wide-eyed Bella had become until I nearly finished the piece.

"Wow." All the air in her gushed out in one sharp exhale. Smugness turned quickly to sheepishness, and it was obvious she was now eating her words of regularity.

"Admit it." I rested my now idle hands on my thighs, containing the complacent smile I knew was coming. "You were wrong."

"Not entirely." She admitted, her voice still small. Before my temper could ignite once more, she clarified. "I was wrong about you being an average player, but I _was _right about you being a modest one."

I chuckled once. "I suppose that's so." It was my sincerest hope that we could carry on with the lesson. But she parted her lips, ready to speak.

"And that leads me to another question. If you were capable of playing such a beautiful song, why go with a much simpler one?"

I scoffed, growing annoyed with her insinuations. "Because I wrote the first piece I played, and I did not write the second."

"Yes, Claire de Lune, I'm aware of it. It's a lovely piece. But that doesn't answer my question. Why the modesty? In my experience, unnecessary modesty usually means that the person in question is afraid. Afraid of their talent. Are you afraid, Edward?"

I paused, finally allowing her words to send me into a tizzy of contemplation. I _was _afraid. My previous flashes of anger made me afraid that I would end up like my father. Or worse, my lonely mother, who devoted her life to one person and ended up dejected. In my life, there were plenty of things to be afraid of.

It felt as if I were choking when I finally spoke. "Maybe I am."

"Aren't we all?" She gazed at me sympathetically. Her pink lips tightened, and she turned to the piano. "Alright. I'm ready to carry on with the lesson. Are you?"

Her posture straightened, and she held her hands out to the piano. I soon left self contemplation returned to teaching. "You do not want to use the nail of your finger or the pad, rather somewhere in between the two..."

**The first song (even though it did not exist in 1918) Edward played sounded, to me, like "Row" by Jon Brion, off the Eternal Sunshine soundtrack. The second (obviously) was "Claire de Lune" by Claude Debussy.**

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	5. Affirmation

**Chapter Five – Affirmation**

The days seemed to blend together, their repetition oddly comforting. The highlight remained those mornings spent at the piano, teaching a reluctant Isabella Swan how to play. Luckily for me, her disinclination was waning slowly. She did not drag her heels when we walked from the front step to the cellar. She did not look at the piano, or me for that matter, with exasperation. Being in my presence no longer angered her, but it did not delight her either.

Then one day, there was a shift. Not the gradual, measured change in attitude I had experienced in these past seven days. It was abrupt, and unforeseen.

I was standing over my close companion, opening the old packet—simple notes, beginner's folly. She eyed the music shrewdly, her nose wrinkled in disgust. That was hardly surprising, but her reasoning behind the aversion was.

"I think that this weather is far too pleasant to be trapped down here playing Chopsticks." With bold assertion, she brushed her hands along the decaying pages, closing them gracefully.

I opened them once more, concerned only with Sheriff Swan. He would not be thrilled if these lessons were discontinued abruptly. "Your father is paying..."

Stubbornly, she closed it once more. Her face exhibited unyielding authority.

"Charlie is not here, is he?" Her self-satisfied smile exhibited her victory. "Nor is he at home. So I was thinking, if you don't mind, that a field trip is in order."

All my logic dissolved when she flashed that brilliant, beautiful smile.

There were no concrete reasons to debate any longer.

* * *

The Swan residence was within walking distance. Not a short walk, which did not bother me in the slightest. The soft morning sun reflected in her auburn hair, leaving it red where it kissed. Her feet, free from shoes now, trekked through the soft grass, alongside of my own bare feet.

"I must ask one question, if you don't mind?" I looked into her chocolate brown eyes, and there seemed to be no bother at a question. "I must know why you do not like me."

She laughed heartily, her eyes soft and watching her feet tramp through the tall grass. "I do wonder where you got _that _idea."

"I overheard you and your father discussing your piano lessons..." I felt small, those stinging memories vivid in my mind. "It was very obvious you did not wish to spend time with me."

"Believe me, it's not you." She paused, leading me to believe there was more to this. I remained in a gentlemanly silence. If she wanted to continue this conversation, she would on her own free will. "It was my father. Charlie, he... with him, there is no choice. I am to do as I'm told. With my mother..." Her voice trailed off, consumed with grief. "There was always a choice."

"Your mother..." I was not sure of her history. If her mother had left, the way my father had, then it would be rude to state something.

"She passed away when I was ten." Her voice was a soft whisper that floated away in the wind. "She was my best friend."

"I'm very sorry." I murmured uncomfortably. My hand automatically twitched towards her, wanting so desperately to touch her pale hand. To console her. But I kept my hand at my side. Cowardly.

"Now since I answered a question, can I inquire one from you?"

From me, she could have whatever she wanted.

"I have met your mother, and she is wonderful. But your father... is he..." The way she spoke, she already had her assumed answer. An answer she had reached out of her own experience.

I interceded before any more assumptions were born. "He was always the kind of man who took off when things got rough. And for our family...well, things got rough."

Though I had not lost a parent the same way she had, she still looked at me with a similar sympathy.

"I suppose it's for the best. The man had a violent temper, and he was difficult to be around."

She pursed her lips. Unsure, that's what her expression said. "I don't know if I believe that."

"Believe what?"

"That you're better off without a parent."

"You've never met my father."

She sighed. "I suppose not." It appeared like there was another discussion just waiting on her lips, but another matter surfaced. "Here we are. My home."

We stood in front of an old log cabin, nearly engulfed in the towering trees. It was a homely mixture of greens and browns, except for the deep blue sky and the small and fragrant garden at the side of the house. It looked and felt like a home, or at least the way a home _should _feel. Warm. Inviting.

"Charlie grew up in this house." She explained, feeling a need to defend the home. "He finds the consistency comforting."

"I must say, if your father is as governing as you make him out to be, I find it very odd you refer to him as Charlie."

She laughed tenderly, her soft voice carrying throughout the woods. "I would never call him that to his face. He would never allow me back into his home."

That was a strange sentiment to find amusing. "I suppose that's true."

Swiftly, she changed the subject. "Your mother grew up a few houses down the road. The Webers live there now. Their daughter, Angela, just got married a few weeks ago." Her eyes remained down the dirt path, appended to the modest building at the end of it. "That's how she met my father—they were neighbors. Carlisle's family lived at the end of this road."

"You know more about their past than I do." I grinned wryly. "Shall we go inside?" I pointed in the direction of the front door, and she frowned in disapproval.

"If I wanted to stay indoors, I would be playing the piano very poorly right about now."

The sardonic humor in her voice was heartbreaking.

"I have an idea. Come with me." She grabbed my hand, without hesitation. Electricity currents ran through my hand easily at the contact. There was no control to be had in the second she flashed me that carefree smile. I followed her guide readily.

"Thought that was what I was doing right now." I muttered under my breath, thinking she had no chance of hearing it. But she must have—her warm laughter filled the air quickly.

Still holding my hand, she ran as fast as her pale yellow dress would allow her, keeping me an arm's length away. I did not have to run hard to keep up with her.

We stopped once we had reached the backyard, just as lush and green as it had been in the front. Our pace slackened from its previous run to a very slow walk.

"This is where I come to think." She sighed, her eyes stuck on an old piece of wood, dangling from the sturdiest tree. A swing. "It's very quiet back here, I can just sit...and reflect."

"Sounds perfect."

"Would you like to use the swing first, Edward?" She said, motioning to that old board. My gentlemanly instincts kicked in as I shook my head, and motioned for her to frequent it. She sat down without hesitation, her legs moving like graceful pendulums as they propelled her. I stood behind her, my palm occasionally pressing against her back, giving her a little more air. I enjoyed that duty.

"Have you ever been to Maine, Edward?" She asked, her voice suddenly in another hemisphere.

Outside of this summer, I had not been on any sort of trip in years. Family vacations were eliminated, an "unnecessary expenditure" by my father's standards. I shook my head. "No."

"We traveled there when I was a child. It was before I had a Sheriff as a father." She explained, half-smiling at the memory.

"How was it?" I tried to imagine the ocean's roar, the feeling of sand under my toes. But my imagination failed me.

"It was beautiful. We stayed at this little cottage on the coast, and you could see everything. The ocean, the beach." She smiled, the warmth returning to her face again. "I never wanted to leave. That was when I decided I was going to marry, and we would live in that same little cottage. Our children would run around on the beach, barefoot and absolutely content. We'd sit on the porch and hold hands. A perfect little life together."

This time, my imagination was successful—I could visualize the perfect scene she had planned. And what surprised me even more was how much I longed for it. In that moment, we both longed for that same complete and utter happiness.

"Of course, now I know how foolish the idea of marriage is. How unattainable that stupid childhood fairy tale is." Her voice was so rationally bitter.

"It's not foolish." I whispered, defending my fleeting dream.

She laughed readily. "You hardly seem like the type who is all for marriage."

"I'm not." My own experience with the binding marriage was solid proof of that. "I just don't think you will have a hard time finding happiness."

"And what would make you happy?"

"Becoming a soldier." I answered plainly. That was the only source of accomplishement I could see for myself.

"A soldier." The way she spoke the words made them sound vulgar. "You honestly believe the military is your one source of contentment? I never judged you to be so patriotic."

"I have a strong sense of loyalty to my fellow man. If there are thousands of soldiers overseas protecting our freedom, then I can devote myself to the same cause."

"Then what's holding you back right now?"

"A promise to my mother."

She smiled, as if that were the funniest statement she had ever heard in her life. "You promised your mother you wouldn't join the army?"

"I promised her I'd never leave her." I swallowed hard, the words difficult to bear. "The way my father left her."

There was no response to that. She giggled at nothing, nor did she smile to herself. She suddenly became expressionless. Her eyes remained locked at the edge of the long driveway, curved to where it was clearly visible from right here. Two shadows stood motionless at the edge.

"Charlie will be arriving home soon. I hate to be rude, but he would not be pleased to find you here. Thank you for the company, Edward."

She stood and curtsied, the formality continuing. Confused, I followed her orders and ducked into the forest, finding my way around the two shadows.

On the way back, I thought of nothing but her.

She had frequented my dreams ever since my first night, her face an eternal beacon of light in my darkness. As I continued to step slow, the idea of her haunted me. Even though I was intact, a whole being in a physical sense, I was not complete. It was as if were holding a part of me, the only good and worthy parts of me, in the palm of her hand. When I was in her company, I felt complete. When we were apart, I felt incomplete.

Emmett used to say he fell in love daily, each day defined by its latest discovery. That was not love, it was lust. An attraction based on physical magnetism. But this was much different. The pull I experienced was much too powerful to be just teenage hormones.

It was then I realized that I was irretrievably in love with Bella Swan.

My heart soared at the sound of her name. It was a high I had never experienced, and I wanted to know no other ecstasy. The only happiness I ever wanted to undergo was in her company.

Surely she must have recognized this already. She was far more intuitive than I had been.

Irregardless, I needed to unburden this revelation, even if for my own sake. I had never been in this position before. I wanted to shout my feelings from the rooftop. My slow walk picked up instantly, to the point where I was nearly sprinting at an inhuman speed. On my short journey, I rehearsed. How I would combine the words. Potential reactions. The speech became well-rehearsed, even in my brief travel.

I arrived back at the Swan residence, and saw two figures to be Charlie and Carlisle's uncle, Mr. Crowley. They conversed casually until Charlie noticed my arrival.

"Edward!" Charlie called out, as if I were a dear friend. Mr. Crowley only watched me suspiciously, like I were about to pounce and rob him blind. "How is my Isabella doing in her lessons?"

"Very well." I muttered, my heart still pounding in my chest. She was only a chit-chat away, and my giddiness was uncontrollable. "Your daughter is a fine student."

"And she will make a fine bride, I'm sure." Mr. Crowley interjected.

I froze. What in the world did that mean? I stood motionless, trying to decipher what Mr. Crowley could've possible meant by that statement.

Charlie noticed my incomprehension almost instantly. "I was just telling Mr. Crowley the good news. Michael Newton has sought my daughter's hand in marriage, and I have approved the union. They are to marry in the fall of this year."

My head spun in a dizzy hysteria. Engaged. I was here to declare an undying love for her, and she was betrothed.

"I'm sure your visit was not purely for my company, or even Mr. Crowley's. Is there anything I can do for you, Edward?

I swallowed hard, teaching myself how to speak again. "I just came to remind her of our lessons tomorrow. Surely you could...pass along the message for me."

What his response was, I cannot be sure. In that moment, I was deaf to any sounds other than the noisy breaking of my heart. I was too late. The only girl I had ever fallen in love with, was now engaged to the wealthiest man in town. There was no hope for a destitute pianist with no real prospects to compete with the wealthy Michael Newton.

My hopelessness was overwhelming. It felt as if I were drowning. The waves of despair were ripping me apart, and I no longer wished to fight it.

I surrendered myself to it.

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	6. Obstacles

**Chapter Six – Obstacles**

Her playing had improved slightly. Her long fingers were performing basic chords much more gracefully than she had in the past. Her face remained smooth, now that she wasn't constantly creating horrible sounds.

All this, I could not focus on.

The ring. That shiny, clear-cut, diamond ring occupying her left ring finger was all I could focus on. Its dazzling glisten distracted me to where I could not ponder anything but it.

She was engaged, officially. This ring proved it.

"How am I doing?" Her voice sounded so distant—maybe it was my mind causing the detachment.

"Fine." I answered, my voice unknowingly cold. Her hand shifted slightly, and the diamond sparkled a little brighter than before. I was blinded by it.

She stopped playing, and turned to me. "Is there a problem, Edward?"

I shook my head, determined to prove there was nothing wrong. Yet my pouty expression proved otherwise.

It was then she caught me staring at her engagement ring. "You've heard the news."

Like a band pulled too far, I just snapped. "_Michael Newton_?" His name came out like the hiss of a rattlesnake. "Was this a choice you made, or one your father made for you?"

"I made it!" She retorted angrily. "He asked to marry _me_, not my father."

"What happened to the small cottage in Maine? Do you really think that Michael Newton, wealthiest fool in town, wants to settle in an undersized house?"

"He says he loves me, and that is all that matters." She whispered. It did not disprove my theory convincingly.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes." Her voice sounded barely convincing.

"Really?"

She scoffed, her expression indignant. "I don't have to explain my actions to you." She closed the sheet music, and snapped up to her feet. "He asked _me _to marry him, and I said yes. Nothing else is your business. You are just an acquaintance, not my boss, and certainly not my father."

And she stormed off. A new rage built inside of me—a culmination of many, many emotions that I had bottled up until this moment. Waiting for that one monumental release. My father's abandonment. My voracious desire to serve my country. Bella's engagement. All these things set a fire inside of me, tearing throughout me. In absolute fury, I turned towards one of the dusty cellar walls, and just let my anger explode.

So maybe punching a wall was not the greatest means of release.

Instantly, my knuckles began to throb with red-hot pain. Just what I needed—a broken hand! The only remedy I could think of was to see Carlisle.

* * *

"It doesn't look broken. Just a sprain." Carlisle spoke in a very polite manner. In a way that made him sound like a doctor, a tone I was not accustomed to hearing. "You must've put some force into this."

The sense of accomplishment was subtle. "So I don't need a cast?"

He shook his head. "We can just tape it up, but if you plan on attacking any other immobile objects, we may need to get a cast."

It was difficult to smile—my mind replayed that scene over and over again. Carlisle watched me cautiously but intently. "I was such a fool, the way I speaking to her." Depression sunk even further at one theory. "I don't think she'll wish to return after this."

"Perhaps we should start a lonely hearts club." He chuckled, and his expression went very serious quite suddenly. "Do you know why I invited you and your mother to spend the summer with me? The unfeigned, genuine reason?"

I shook my head. It was my understanding that it was an act of charity.

"What you don't realize...about my profession, is how..." He paused pensively. "I spend almost every waking hour using my medical knowledge to help others, to make a difference. To them, I matter." His smile was obviously pained. Sobriety kicked in after a silent second. "But the second I step outside those hospital doors, I am just as lonely and miserable as I had been before I walked in. Before I mattered."

"I try to block out most of my childhood memories, but the times that I spent with your mother... She is one of the most compassionate, loving people I have ever come upon."

I could think of the one exception, in his eyes.

"We kept in contact often. During my studies, I would often take a moment to read her bragging of your accomplishments, or her trivial pursuits of the day. She is like a sister to me. The only real family I've ever had."

"I invited her to come not out of charity, but out of my selfishness. I have been lonesome so long, I was afraid I'd go mad. There are so few people in this town who do not see me as the little ten year old boy I once was. There are so few... good... people left."

"Forgive me, I should not dump all my problems onto you." His voice became dangerously close to a whimper.

"I don't mind." I shrugged, giving him a smile. The truth was, his tribulations were a welcomed distraction to my own. Concerning myself with his longing for Miss Esme Platt, I could not focus on my longing for Miss Isabella Swan.

"There are so few...good...pure...people left here." He muttered to himself.

"She hasn't agreed to marry him yet." I spoke softly, knowing the encouragement he needed. "There's still hope for you. Maybe... she is just waiting for you to take a chance."

"I doubt that. There is no chance she would want to marry me."

"Carlisle, I have seen the way she looks at you. Granted, I am not the most _experienced _when it comes to love." Her face surfaced in my memory, shortly followed by the searing image of that shining diamond. "But I know what I saw. She just may be as deeply in love with you as you are with her."

He could not argue with me there.

"My uncle." He choked out, his name sounding suspiciously like an expletive. "He would never approve. Her family is not wealthy."

"It's not your uncle's decision to make."

"Thank you. It is... exceptionally nice to have someone around here to talk to."

"It's nice to have someone treat me like an adult around here."

We both smiled at each other, with undying gratitude.

"Take it easy with that hand for a few days. Unless you have some more pent up aggression with brick walls you need to unleash..."

Laughter tore through me. "I don't believe so."

He nodded in approval. "And I'm afraid to say it, but you may need to relax on the teaching for a few weeks."

My Achilles' tendon, struck instantly and painfully. "I doubt she will be wanting to be near me any time soon."

"Bella is a reasonable girl. And lucky for you, she does not hold grudges for very long." He shook his head, soft laughter escaping from him. "She does have a violent temper, though. She will need a few days to calm down. Give her a little space and she will forgive you wholly."

A violent temper—we had that in common.

I crept out of his office, too embarrassed to explain to my mother what had caused this. She was standing in the room adjacent to Carlisle's study, and had obviously overheard some of our interchange. If not the part about Bella, then at least the bit of my hand not being broken.

"Edward, your hand..." She moaned, far too intuitive for her own good. Yet missing a very obvious clue. I strode past her, not wanting to have any further discussion about it. With a throbbing and taped-up fist, I spent the rest of my day pent up in my room.

The solitude did nothing to erase my guilt or despair.

**Review? (insert cute puppy-dog eyes)**


	7. Penance

**Chapter Seven - Penance**

I wasn't sure what time it was, but I was positive it was very early in the morning. As soon as that realization hit me, I knew I was in trouble.

Carlisle's return after the night shift had abruptly stirred me from my sleep. My mother was already awake, no doubt. Mornings were much kinder to her than they were to me. Within minutes of his arrival, they would be sipping tea at his kitchen table, talking quietly to avoid waking me up at this early hour.

But I was not in my guest bed as they thought; I slumbered in the basement, on my makeshift cot.

There was something very comforting about the musty air. I had a few unpleasant experiences trudging through the house after a late night at the piano, and even more unfortunate experiences curled up on the cold floor, because I was simply too exhausted to climb the stairs to my room. A few spare blankets and pillows rested in the corner of the room, for such occasions they were needed.

Even though I could not play piano tonight, thanks to my foolish outburst, it was comforting being in its proximity. I had not experienced sleeplessness like this since my first night in Minnesota. My dreams had been plagued by her face, as they always were, but these were not the fantasies I had once had. They were not happy, peaceful memories. The hurt in her eyes, the accusation in her voice—these were all things afflicting me, and causing me to lie awake in my bed every night.

The only place I could ever seem to get any sleep was in my provisional cot.

It was frequently just a short sleep, enough to give me the energy to travel further. But this was the longest I had ever lasted. As soon as my eyes opened, it was obvious I had to sneak back silently into my room. I knew my mother would be upset if she knew. She would drone that there were plenty of nice beds in this house, and I was sleeping on the floor of the basement. The argument was not worth it.

I walked on the tips of my toes, afraid that one wrong step would expose me. I made it safely past the kitchen door, not intending to eavesdrop at all. But their conversation quickly enraptured me, and I could do nothing but stop and take note.

"He hasn't spoken much since his father left. I'm afraid he's taking it much harder than he wants me to believe." She pursed her lips, setting the tea cup down softly. The floorboards barely creaked as I inched towards the stairs. "He's always been a quiet boy, and he's always been self-reliant, but I'm just... he's so lonely, Carlisle."

"I know." His voice hardly comforted.

At that moment, I crept off to my room. On the silent and swift journey towards the room, I couldn't help but agree with my mother's assessment.

* * *

She did not seem to notice I had not slept in my room last night. Or, perhaps she did, and she was just too distracted to discuss right now. She had much more _pressing_ matters to argue.

"You are being ridiculous, Edward. You only turn 18 once!"

I shuddered at the thought of what my mother was planning. No doubt Carlisle was her benefactor, providing more ammunition for whatever harebrained ideas she had.

I hated parties. Loathed may have been a more appropriate emotion towards them. They were always stiff, wearisome events that drug on until early hours of the morning. There was no motivation for me to enjoy myself.

"I told you. I don't want a party."

Carlisle frowned, "I haven't a child of my own who allows me to throw parties. Please permit this vicarious fun, if not for me, then for your mother at the very least."

Guilt hung heavily in the pit of my stomach like an illness. Neither of them fought fairly—I could see that now.

All it took was one nod of the head—a begrudged, unwilling nod—for things to spiral out of control. My mother grinned triumphantly, her head spinning off into a tizzy of planning. Carlisle excused himself, off to sleep off his night shift. Before I could become entrapped into her planning, I had one pressing matter of my own.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to go for a little walk." My mother would not notice—she was too busy going overboard for my pending birthday. I escaped readily, though I was facing certain doom.

* * *

I clutched the small bouquet of flowers like they were my life raft.

On my way to apologize to Bella, I had run into Esme, which turned out to be most fortunate. I told her of my predicament (leaving out certain details, including my love for Bella) and she willingly handed me the aromatic bunch. "Girls love getting flowers," she claimed with a smile. I accepted them and continued on my walk.

When I reached her long and winding path, I froze. What would I say to her, to amend this situation? To be in her good graces again? Would I ever achieve that clemency?

Once I accepted that I would have to grovel down on my knees, I continued the walk. It felt more like walking to my own funeral.

As if she were expecting me, she stood on the front porch, leaning against a tall pillar. "Good morning, Edward." Her voice sounded frightfully cold.

I cleared my throat, and thrust the flowers towards her. Might as well soften her up first. "This is an offering of peace." She reached out to take them, but her expression did not alter. "I cannot apologize enough for my erratic behavior."

"Edward..." She interjected, futile. I needed to get this off my chest.

"There is no excuse for how I acted. I acted like a complete fool, and if I have to spend the rest of my summer begging for your forgiveness, I will do it gladly. Your company is the most enjoyable part of my summer, and I _need _your absolution, though I hardly deserve it..."

"I forgive you." She nearly shouted, trying to get a word in.

"You forgive me?" My hopes elated instantly, at the chance I had been pardoned.

"The truth is, I've never been able to hold a grudge for very long." She smiled, her soft pink lips stretching across her pale face brilliantly. "So I forgave you the second I left the house."

"Oh." All the air escaped from me. "Now I wish I would've come to apologize sooner. I could've spared myself hours of preparing mentally for your wrath."

We both stood in sweet silence, laughing softly and staring intently into each others eyes. Her chocolate brown eyes were soft and magnificent. I wanted to drown in them.

"These flowers are beautiful, thank you." Shyness appeared in her quickly, she sounded so sheepish now. Her gaze darted to the ground as quick as a firefly. "So...should we return to my lessons?" That filled me with a new hope. She no longer dreaded our mornings in the piano room.

I raised my taped hand, a frown embedded on my face. "I'm afraid I cannot."

Silently, she examined the bandages for a while. She frowned in disapproval, and I assumed that was her way of ending the conversation. I turned my back to her, striding back sullenly to Carlisle's house.

"Just because we can't work on the piano, that doesn't mean we cannot spend time together." She called out eagerly.

My smile could not have grown any wider at that.

* * *

"Are you sure? I am sure we have some coffee around here somewhere." She asked, sweet and concerned. She would've begun looking around the kitchen in an instant if I did not stop her now.

"Tea is fine." I said, a saccharinely persuasive grin on my face. "So how did he propose?"

She dropped her tea cup on the table, not a thought running through her blank expression.

"I promise I won't erupt again."

"It's not that." She replied softly, her cup returning to her soft pink lips slowly. "Michael isn't much of a romantic. He's very...sensible."

I held my tongue with every negative comment brewing in my head. "There are worse adjectives for a man than being sensible." And every single one was littering my mental image of him.

She smiled, filling my soul with uninhibited rapture. She leaned in closer towards me, a look of wickedness in her eyes. "You know, a little birdie told me your birthday is coming up soon."

I groaned as she laughed melodiously.

"Not much for birthdays?" She asked, hitting the nail on the head. "Don't worry, I'm not either."

Remembering the debate with my mother earlier this morning, my inspiration struck swiftly. "I believe there's a _small_ party being planned, and if you aren't busy, you and your fiancé have my personal invitation." The words party and fiancé both felt equally profane as they slipped out.

She pursed her lips, her face tightening in a suspicious manner. That expression meant only one thing.

"You've already been invited." Defeat was very painfully present in my voice. She nodded slowly in agreement. My mother was unbelievable! "I suppose half the town has been invited by now."

Her expression merely validated that hypothesis.

"Should I be nervous?" She apparently knew more details than I would ever barter off my own mother.

"I would be." She smiled sympathetically, and suddenly I did not mind that I was obviously in for my worst nightmare, come next week.

I was in heaven at this moment, and I did not wish to leave.

* * *

When I returned to the house, it was nearly lunchtime. I had spent the entire morning at Bella's table, discussing everything under the sun. There had never been, in my entire existence, a more fulfilling conversation. She was intelligent and clever; the absolute perfect raconteur. If I had not promised my mother a pithy return, it would not have been difficult to spend the entire day engulfed in her mind's workings. She truly was a fascinating person.

Not surprisingly, my mother was nowhere to be found. With her extravagant plans and Carlisle's financial backing, she was, without a doubt, making a mountain of my molehill birthday. I went into the kitchen, about to hunt up something to eat, and then I noticed Carlisle sitting at the table. Nearly beside himself with happiness.

"I took your advice." The words rushed out of his mouth with absolute haste. He did not wish to waste time with greetings. This _had _to be good news—Carlisle was the most formal person I had ever met. "You were right."

I searched my mind for any advice I had dispensed that could've provided Carlisle with this much happiness. My search came up with nothing. I took a seat across from him, waiting for the conclusion to this story.

"I went to see Miss Platt's father. For once, I ignored the nagging voice of my conscience, which sounds suspiciously like my uncle, and I asked for Esme's hand in marriage."

His smile grew exponentially with each recollection of his morning.

"I'm going to ask her tonight. I am visiting her tonight before my shift at the hospital, and I am going to ask Esme to marry me." His eyes glistened with unrestrained happiness, and that excitement was rubbing off onto me. "I do hope she says yes." He added, sheepishly.

"She will." I assured him. My run-in with Esme had validated that. She greeted me affably, but it was obvious I was not the occupant of this manner she wished to converse with. I was confident now that Esme and Carlisle would get the happy ending they deserved.

My own ending, whether it was happy or not, I remained less than confident in.

**Okay, the next chapter is going to be epic. Seriously. So review and I'll update swiftly.**


	8. Assertion

**Chapter Eight – Declaration**

"Happy Birthday, darling!" My mother practically shouted as I walked into the kitchen that morning. I was sort of disappointed—when I woke up, I was half-expecting a marginal difference. As if I were to wake up, feeling an entire year older. But I still felt exactly the same as I had when I fell asleep.

Before I could even grab a muffin from the counter, she attacked me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Knowing how this contact meant to her, I made no attempts to

"Thank you, mom." I murmured sheepishly. Carlisle was in the corner, looking weary from another long shift at the hospital, and yet he was in far better spirits than any sleep-deprived doctor should.

Only I knew it was because he had finally gotten the courage to propose to the love of his life—and she said yes. It had been our shared secret for a solid week now.

"Do you feel much different, like an adult?"

"He will always be my little baby boy." My mother cooed before I could reply, pinching one of my cheeks. That nauseated me—despite reaching the legal age of adulthood, she still viewed me as a child.

"Are you excited for your party?" Her high-octave squeal settled slowly as she sipped on her tea and sat back down. I shrugged, only excited for one aspect. Rather, one guest coming.

Bella was coming.

Of course, she would no doubt have her own guest. A fiancé, no less. But my I allowed my heart to swell with excitement at the thought of her attendance.

Her beautiful face was enough of a present.

* * *

My party had begun, and I was already counting down the minutes until it was over.

It was as bad as expected, if not worse. The house was nearly filled to capacity with people from town. Childhood friends of my mother's. Colleagues of Carlisle's. Business associates of Mr. Crowley's. My eighteenth birthday was celebrated in a room filled with adults I was only vaguely familiar with. Wearing a tie, no less.

Carlisle was sure to switch shifts so that he could be present. It made sense he wished to see the gathering he had sponsored—what made even more sense was that his secret fiancée would be present, and he longed to see her more than anything.

He was waiting near the doorway for her arrival, impatiently tapping his feet and staring at the door needlessly. As if a lingering gaze would speed up her arrival. I kept him company, begrudgingly greeting all my well-wishers.

"Carlisle, my nephew, there is someone here I would like you to meet." Mr. Crowley startled us both with his sudden and covert arrival. Carlisle out of obligation, and I out of curiosity, turned to meet this desired acquaintance. A frail and attractive blonde in a pale blue dress stood confidently at his side.

"Miss Mallory, this is my nephew, Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Carlisle, this is Miss Lauren Mallory. Her father is an associate of mine." What Mr. Crowley failed to mention in his introduction was that Miss Lauren Mallory was a single, wealthy daughter of his business associate. The same age as Carlisle, and an ideal wife. My discussions with Bella on local gossip had benefited me greatly at this exact moment.

"I'll let you two get better acquainted." Mr. Crowley said, subtly sneaking away into the crowd gathered in the main room. Miss Mallory had a very flirtatious look about her, and Carlisle was not in the least bit interested. His eyes returned to the doorway, hoping for his beloved's entrance.

"Mr. Crowley tells me you're a doctor. That must be a fascinating field to be in." She said in a sweet voice, hardly interested in the medicinal aspect of him.

"It is." Carlisle stated without interest in conversing with Miss Mallory. Realizing how rude he sounded, he flashed her a quick smile, and quickly returned to ignoring her.

Miss Mallory did not seem to enjoy this. She was very self-involved, from what I had heard from Bella, and took immense pleasure in being center of attention. She clearly was put out from the lack of attention (or affection, for that matter) from Carlisle. I tried very hard not to laugh at her pouty expression, but barely managed to repress my smile.

Mr. Crowley returned when the conversation had turned silent.

"Already comfortable in silence? My, you two were destined for each other!" He said with a voracious laugh. No one seemed to join him in laughter. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all." Carlisle retorted, a hint of anger in his voice, not looking at his uncle at all.

Mr. Crowley's brow furrowed in anger at his lack of acknowledgement, not only to his company, but him as well. He leaned in, whispered something in Carlisle's ear. From the expression on his and Carlisle's face, it was not something pleasant by any means.

"Tell me you're joking." Carlisle exclaimed once his uncle had parted from their contact.

"Miss Mallory, would you excuse us?" Mr. Crowley said in a flat tone, and Miss Mallory hurried off. No doubt desperate to find attention from someone. Once she was out of reach, his flat tone quickly to a scorning one. "How dare you! I find you the absolute perfect bride, and you reject me so hastily! Why you insist on torturing me, I will never fully understand."

"My choices, uncle, have no ill-will in their intent." He struggled to stay calm during this disparagement. I remained a silent observer, thanking that the tide of visitors had ebbed at the moment.

Their argument escalated to a louder yell. "You have kept your desolate state long enough! Either you are to choose a bride by the end of the month, or I will choose one for you. Even if I have to throw you in a bag over my own shoulder to the altar, you _will _be married!"

"I've already proposed, and it's been accepted!" Carlisle erupted noisily. Silence fell over the room abruptly at this revelation. Dr. Carlisle Cullen was the most desirable husband in town—rich, intelligent, kind—and the thought of him being betrothed was unfathomable.

"Why did you not tell me sooner?" Mr. Crowley said in a much calmer voice once the party roared back to life. "The fact that you're engaged makes..."

"I've asked Miss Esme Platt to marry me." He spoke only loud enough for his uncle to hear.

And it was enough to turn Mr. Crowley as pale as a ghost.

"That's why I didn't tell you." Carlisle added, for his own benefit. "I considered all the factors you longed for in an occupant of this estate, and I realized that I did not care. Miss Platt makes me happy, and that is all that matters to me. Whether or not you approve, I am going to make Esme my wife."

His confidence to stand up to his uncle was awe-inspiring. There were only a few witnesses to this exchange, but I was absolutely delighted to be one of them.

Mr. Crowley had been defeated, as if he were some monstrous villain that needed defeating. Carlisle's chest raised in pride as his uncle sulked off into the crowd, hiding in his room for the rest of his night.

The guests who _had_ overheard their argument were quick to offer Carlisle their congratulations on his engagement. When Esme arrived, looking beautiful as always, he swept her off her feet, in a lurid kiss. They no longer had to keep their engagement a secret, and that was enough to celebrate for.

When Esme learned she had inadvertently overshadowed my birthday, she was quick to apologize. "I do hope you aren't upset, we certainly stole your focus. Please forgive me." I convinced her, quite ardently, that I did not mind. The limelight was not something I desired, so its theft was no impairment to me.

My party started off with a bang. I became hopeful very quickly that the night would not be so torturous after all.

* * *

I did not see Bella enter the party, but I knew of her presence the second my heart began to race uncontrollably. It didn't take me long to find her. She was sitting along the wall, watching with quiet eyes at all the dancing and merrymaking. I was quick to notice how utterly alone she was. No Michael Newton at her side, whispering sensible and non-romantic things in her ear.

As if I were flying, I found myself at her side without actually walking. She did not feel my presence, distracted by the masses gathered in this room. Her expression seemed sad, somehow. I put my lips along her earlobe. "This is a party; you're supposed to have fun."

She jumped, startled by my presence. And then a glorious smile illuminated her face. "I'm not much for the parties, actually." Her warm laughter soothed me.

"Don't worry." I sighed, taking a seat next to her. "Neither am I."

"I thought this was your planning." She raised one eyebrow towards me, suspicious.

"It was my mother's planning. Along with Carlisle." I grinned foolishly, dazzled by her beauty. She wore her hair down in soft curls, a light yellow party dress hugging her figure beautifully. Without even trying, she was the most beautiful girl in the room.

"So...What does one do in Chicago if they are forced to attend a party they do not wish to attend, with the only other person in the room that does not wish to be there?" She asked hypothetically. I laughed loudly for the first time all night.

"They escape." I whispered, over the roar of the crowd. "Are you asking me to get you out of this?"

"Please." She begged quietly.

Without another word, I grabbed her wrist, and tugged her lightly through the room. Pushing our way through chattering strangers, giggling the entire time, we broke through the doors, and a cool night breeze greeted us.

"Where are you taking me?" She giggled, still holding my hand. Our feet traipsed through the wet grass clumsily. Our vision slightly dampened by the night sky, lit up only by the moon.

"Where I go when I need to escape!" I called, glancing at her over my shoulders. We ran until our breath escaped us, and I knew we were at the spot when she stopped abruptly.

"Edward..." She sighed, breathless. "It's so beautiful out here."

"I can think of something as beautiful, maybe more." I whispered ever so slightly. My mouth uttered the words without even consulting my head. And she froze. She had heard my aside, and was so stunned by my curtness that she became stationery. "I'm sorry. I don't know...what I was thinking..."

"It's alright." She murmured, somewhat afraid. As if my remark had frightened, not flattered, her.

Feeling bold, I strode towards her. My hand brushed her cheek so slightly, I flinched at her warmth. One jagged breath escaped my lips, and I knew what true happiness lied in her grasp.

"But Bella..." I spoke her name so fluidly, the word danced out of my mouth with her beauty. And I forgot instantly what I was trying to contain. It all came out at once, before another thought could be processed. "Isabella Swan, I am madly in love with you."

She did not flinch, or back away. She watched. With intent and curiosity.

"I have been in love with you from the first moment my eyes laid upon you." It was a husky whisper, but relief washed over me with this confession. "You are the only one I have ever met who has captivated me so wholly. And I love you."

"I know...I cannot offer you financial security like Michael can..." I snarled at his name, his evil, wretched name. She still watched with deliberation, speechless. "But what I _can _offer you is my whole heart. A kind of love that would never diminish or expire."

The moonlight reflected beautifully in her eyes, and her saccharine breath made my heart sing.

I brushed the russet hair dangling near her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, and my hands lingered needlessly. It was as if I were a madman, without a thought to call my own. I brought my lips closer to hers, and I took what I had dreamt of so many nights since I had met her.

I kissed Isabella Swan tenderly in the moonlight.

She did not budge from my position, nor did she push me away. The second our lips converged, it was if we were the only two people on the planet that mattered. Engagements, civil duties, war, peace—nothing but she and I existed. I had never felt such love, such passion like this. And I wanted to know no other. If I had to wait until the end of days, I would make Isabella Marie Swan my wife.

When she broke away, a bewildered look in her eyes, she said nothing. Sweet silence filled the air, and I was elated. For the first time, there was hope.

Hope that she could love me the way that I loved her.

"I should...probably get back. My father will be worried." She said, still gasping for air. Panic struck me quickly. Had I misinterpreted her feelings? Had I imagined her hand on my cheek as I kissed her?

With shameful reluctance, we strode back to the house.

Sheriff Swan was waiting for us at the door, along with my mother and Carlisle. None of them seemed panicked--merely fascinated. "There you are! I was beginning to wonder where you ran off."

"Edward was just taking me for a walk. There are quite a few people in the room, and I needed a bit of fresh air." Her voice was frighteningly small.

Sheriff Swan did not seem to notice the reproach in my eyes. "We're taking off, Isabella. Happy birthday, Edward." He shook my hand with confidence. I tried reciprocating the feeling, but my eyes never left Isabella. She looked at anything but me.

"Happy birthday." She whispered, reluctantly pecking me on the cheek. That sensation resonated on my cheek, a painful stinging.

And without another word, she and her father left.

I stormed past my mother and Carlisle, filled with such a passionate rage. Rejection stung like a poison, consuming my system. My knees trembled and I no longer had the desire to continue this façade, this falsified happiness. I went straight into my room, shut the door, and laid on my bed, still in my dress clothes.

I had made myself vulnerable to her affections, and she felt _mortified _about kissing me. She would never look me in the eyes again. I was a monster, kissing a woman about to be married to the second wealthiest man in town. I was truly a self-centered fiend.

It had been the worst birthday of my existence.

**I promised epic, and hopefully I delivered! Review, please?**

**One important piece of information: Edward's 18th birthday is taking place June 20, 1918 (not 1919 like its supposed to be) This alteration is crucial to my story. Just...keep it in mind.**


	9. Decisions

**Chapter Nine – Decisions**

Time had not given me the clear head as I had hoped.

That night played over and over again, taunting me viciously each and every time. The way her lips tasted, tainted by guilt. Her hand, so soft and comforting. My stomach turned as I saw those beautiful eyes, marred by infamy.

Guilt consumed me. I could not see my family. I ignored them all with each attempt at contact they made. I could not bear to look at the piano where I had given her lessons. I could not gaze in the meadow's direction where I had made myself so vulnerable. Every corner of this house wore memories of her beautiful face like a mask.

Soon, their efforts slowed, and I achieved the silence I desired.

It had been three days. Three days of this silent torture, resting in the dark corners of my bedroom. I had no intention of bringing myself to the stinging pain of light, when someone knocked at my door.

"Edward?" It was Esme. Her trips to the estate were much more frequent now that she and Carlisle were engaged. Her voice was so sweet, whispering and tapping my door lightly. "I was just about to go to town. I was wondering if you care to join me. It's a beautiful day out."

Esme's voice was so undying in its compassion. I could not refuse.

Fortunately, she noted my sullen expression, and did not have the courage to press the matter. We walked together to town, taking in as much sunlight as we could. Three days of darkness only to be immersed immediately into sunlight...my eyes could barely adjust. The sunlight did nothing to ease my despair; it merely put a spotlight to it.

Desperate for a distraction, I helped Esme look through the carts of vegetables. I was in the middle of inspecting carrots when something, rather _someone_, caught my eye in the distance.

It was _her_, looking radiant as always.

Seeing her beautiful face, carefree as she approached the farmer's market, there was a longing in the pit of my stomach—an empty hole, longing to be filled with knowledge.

I needed to know how she felt. Her words and actions exposed nothing to me now.

As if _that _night did not happen, I approached her casually. "Hello Miss Swan." She curtsied against her will, as if she were a puppet being forced by her puppeteer to be civil with me.

"Mr. Masen." She whispered, and I knew this was not a good sign. Even though I had started it, we were back to propriety. Profane, blasphemous propriety. My heart sunk.

"I'd like to speak with you, if you don't mind." Civillty was all I could muster. I tried to make my voice even, but emotion betrayed that act.

Obviously she was just as uncomfortable around me--she instantly ducked behind a cart. "There's nothing to discuss."

Confidence gushed throughout my system. I swung around, meeting her gaze. "There is plenty to discuss."

"What more? You've made your feelings devastatingly clear." She stood, stationary. Her face showing slight annoyance by my confidence, and my persistence.

"And yet I feel as if I do not even understand yours. You kissed me back." My accusations were sharp, despite their low volume.

"I didn't even move!" She sneered, her own whisper a violent hiss. "That hardly counts as kissing you back."

My analysis of that night contradicted that assertion. Had I been so grossly inaccurate, that I forced myself into hoping she felt the same? I looked down; swallowing whatever was left of my pride. This conversation had a purpose—I had to know how she really felt. Even if it meant unbearable pain for me.

"If you can honestly say that you do not return my feelings, I will not bother you again."

She gazed at me, voiceless. In her eyes, I swear I could see neither love nor hate. Indifference. My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Mr. Masen! Hurry along, please!" Out of habit, I jerked my head towards the loud calling of my name. Esme, her impatience masked by her sweet voice. I turned back to Bella to see that she had already run off.

I did not wish to follow her. Her feelings had just been made comprehensible, even to me.

"Are you alright?" Esme asked as I was within reach. My entire body was sore, heavy. I was no longer walking myself back to the Cullen house, I was dragging myself. I felt useless.

I said nothing as I walked home. Esme's understanding kept her silent as well. I could understand why Carlisle was so madly in love with her. She was the most gentle woman I had ever met. She would make a lovely wife, and a wonderful mother.

I was sure I would receive neither of those things.

* * *

I didn't come out for supper that night, but no one seemed surprised by this. My wallowing had become obvious, even if the true cause of it wasn't entirely clear.

The deep blue darkness of evening had filled my room with obscurity when I heard someone knocking on the door.

My mother.

"Edward? Can I come in?" She asked, rapping lightly on the door, inviting herself in the half-open frame. I shifted from a lying position to sitting on the edge of the bed in preparation for her arrival.

She knows. My mother is far too intuitive for her _not _to know. I am preparing myself for the biggest, most guilt-ridden lecture I'd ever received. Why falling madly in love with engaged women is foolish—that would be the subject of this talk.

My hopes were not high for this conversation to end well.

She takes a seat alongside me on the crinkled sheets. "I was thinking..." She bites down hard on her bottom lip, an old nervous habit. As if it would help the words come out smoother. "You're 18 now. An adult in the eyes of the law. And I know I made you promise..." Her words shake, evidently just as nervous as my own. A deep breath allows her to begin again.

"You're a man now." She shakes her head, disagreeing with herself. "You always were one, I suppose. I'm only realizing it now. There is nothing I can do to stop you from running and joining the army, or marrying someone, or taking off to university..." Another deep and jagged breath—it takes longer for her to begin again. "I just wanted you to know...everything I've done has always been for someone else. I married your father to please my parents. I brought you here, to Carlisle's, because I thought the time away would give you some clarity, give you time to realize how..."

She choked back a sob, resting one trembling hand on my shoulder. Tears glimmered in her eyes, just yearning to break free. "I just want you to be happy, Edward."

I ran my hand along her back sympathetically, waiting for the tears to rip through her with loud sobs. "I am happy." This hardly convinces me, let alone her.

"You're not happy." She swallows hard, all the loose tears retreating quickly. "The only time I ever saw you happy was when Isabella was around. _She _made you happy."

The past tense was much too noticeable for my own good.

"If you want to go, I won't try to stop you." She said finally, abandoning the topic of Bella. "You are absolved of your promise, do not let it hold you back."

I gave her a peck on the cheek, wet with the freshly flowing tears she fought to hold back. She buried her face in my chest, her hands tightening their grip on the back of my shirt.

"I love you so much, Edward." She whispered through her chest-ripping sobs. "Please be safe."

I smiled, holding her with absolute tenacity. "I will, mom."

Holding my weeping mother, I sat remembering every detail. Every factor in my existence, both here and back home in Chicago. There was nothing holding me, nothing restraining me from the path I wanted. Back when I had decided to enlist, it had been for selfish reasons. The glory. The reverence heroes received. But now, I had the highest of noble purposes.

My decision had been made.

And there was nothing holding me back now.

**Sorry you all got two email saying I had updated. Technology generally hates me, and that was its way of revolting against me. :( But good news: a slothful weekend has allowed me to finish writing the entire story! So there will be consistent updates now, that is if you all review!! :)**

**So review! Right now. Seriously. Do it, please. :D**

**Iwillbetherewhereyouare**


	10. Consequences

**Chapter Ten - Consequences**

**_(Bella's Point of View)_**

It was Monday morning, the absolute worst. Michael usually stumbled into the house, still hung-over, and especially irritable. My father had been foolish enough to leave him an open invitation to breakfast whenever he wanted. Though I supposed I had better get used to the idea of making breakfast for my... I nearly choked on the word fiancé. It was nauseating to think, let alone become accustomed to.

Maybe that was just it. I didn't want to _get used _to the idea of marrying Michael Newton. I didn't want to grow contented with the concept of being his wife.

His face, that kiss by the lake, crawled its way back into my memory.

This felt wrong. I should not be wearing one man's ring and be thinking of another's kiss. No matter how tender his lips moved with mine, or how soft his hands were as they pressed up against my cheek...

The oily smell of bacon filled the room like a heavy cloud, alerting from the recollection.

Charlie was the first to enter the room, still looking scratchy from sleep. The weekend was just as rough for him as I assumed it would be for my...fiancé.

"Morning, Bells." He muttered, and I knew he was still half asleep. He saved formal greetings like my full name for when he was alert and in good company.

The door swung open, crashing noisily against the wall. I turned the bacon onto a plate, and braced myself for the day.

"Bacon, my favorite." Michael muttered, begrudgingly kissing me on the cheek as he came into the kitchen. There was no grand display, no uttering how glad he was to see _me_. If I were that plate of bacon, I would be greeted properly. Instead I was merely looked upon.

The kiss surfaced again in my head, with much more contrast this time to the one I had just experienced.

The memory was much more enjoyable.

I watched as Charlie and Michael devoured my cooking, scrambled eggs, bacon, and fresh baked bread. For a second, I wondered if Edward would shove the food down his throat or if he would savor the taste. The meal would probably be interrupted several times with incessant compliments. Undying gratitude, I fantasized.

Michael barely stopped to breathe, let alone thank me for my work.

This was painful, this...contemplation he'd left me with. Running away from him in the market had spared me from more conversation face-to-face, but now I had nothing to think about but _him_. His face lingered in my mind, like a figure from my dreams.

And I certainly had my fair share of dreams of him, without a doubt.

In my head, the conversation was quite easy. The choice, simple.

"I'm having second thoughts." I would explain, setting my cup of tea down on the table. Michael would understand that I could not love him the way a wife should love her husband. Even if I was not _in love _with Edward, there was no way I could marry Michael with this on my conscience. "I can't marry you, Michael."

He would put down his bacon, take back his ostentatious diamond ring back, and leave without another word.

It would be easy. At least, that's how I fantasized things.

The smarter part of me knew that ending the engagement would be messy. And loud.

So for the rest of breakfast, I sat and watched the fat trickle down the sides of his mouth. I watched two loaves of freshly-baked bread disappear into his greedy mouth. I sipped my tea quietly.

And I remembered how sweet Edward's lips tasted when I kissed him.

* * *

I was impossible to distract all morning.

Michael had gotten dressed up in his crisp black suit, left with another obligatory kiss on my cheek, and went off to the bank to do his job. His presence did nothing to divert me, so the lack of it was nothing unexpected. Charlie's absence was along the lines. In the house, alone, I sat. And I considered.

What if?

What if I was wrong? That my friendship with Edward was not just amity. He understood me. He was the only person I had ever been with that made me feel _safe_, warm. Happy. When I was taking piano lessons, I had never laughed more than when I was in his presence. What if...

I was just as madly in love with Edward as he professed to be with me?

There was nothing left to contemplate—my life had instantly made itself less complicated. I would not marry Michael Newton after all! Charlie would be disappointed, but his first priority always seemed to be my happiness. Maybe he would finally understand that this was _my _choice.

I could be with Edward. I could return with him to Chicago, where we could be married. Raise a family. Be perfectly happy with one another. I did not get nauseated at the thought of wearing Edward's ring, or calling him my fiancé. No, that idea excited me.

There were only a few loose ends to tie up.

I slipped the grandiose diamond off my finger. The left hand felt unbearably lighter than it had since its placement. On the table, along side of a carelessly scribbled note.

_Tell Michael I'm sorry, but it's over._

Charlie would understand. Or, if he couldn't understand, he would pass the message along anyways. I just had to, for once in my life, pursue my own happiness.

My feet could not carry me fast enough out the door. I ran until my breath became jagged and wheezing. The dark rain clouds above me opened a flash flood of raindrops, but I did not care. I ran through my panting and stopped at Carlisle's front door.

I knocked quickly, trying to catch my breath as quickly as possible. When the door swung open, Dr. Cullen was behind it. I put on a smile, and took a deep breath. "Excuse me, Dr. Cullen. I need to see Edward."

He had the most unfathomable expression on his face. Regret, perhaps? He pursed his lips, contemplating something. I slowly began to feel nervous, a black cloud creeping up in my stomach. He asked me to hold on one moment, as he ran back into the house. I watched the rain fade to a slow trickle, barely the outburst of rain it once had been. Dr. Cullen returned, holding a white envelope with my name on it. He handed it to me, apologies in his eyes, and shut the door.

The uneasiness increased tenfold.

I tore open the envelope and perched on the front step. His handwriting was so perfectly scrawled, far better than any of my own letters I had written.

"Dear Bella," it started.

_Dear Bella._

_Though you have made your feelings unmistakably clear, there are things lingering in my mind that were left unspoken on the night of my party. I must depart with these sentiments for my sanity's sake. So here it goes: From the moment I met you, I loved you. I knew I would do anything, and I do mean anything, to be in your favor, to win your hand. Every moment we spent together, even for a mere second, was the happiest moment of my existence. But time has taught me not to have such frivolous expectations, that you would possibly feel the same as I do._

_And for that, I had to leave the way I did. I could not, and will not, watch you pledge your life to such an unworthy man like Michael Newton. If your decision is, in fact, to marry him, then I wish you all the happiness in the world. If I were to say goodbye to you, face to face, I would rationalize ways of breaking your engagement. If I were to look into your beautiful brown eyes flooding with tears, even if they were for only the loss of a friend, then I would persuade myself to stay. Which would only hurt you and myself in the long run._

_And so, my only love, this is goodbye. I am leaving for France in one week. My training is almost complete, and I am doing well so far. Please know that this is all for you. So that I may give you a chance at uninterrupted happiness. If it is an eternity of silent torture in exchange for your unbridled happiness, I will pay that price willingly and without complaint. Consider it my wedding gift to you._

_Forever yours,_

_Edward._

I gasped at the last line, tear drops trickling down freely onto the quickly scribbled pages. It took me this long to realize how foolish I had been! The only thing that ripped me apart more than my newly discovered feelings for him, was knowing that I had been too late in telling him.

He had left thinking I did not feel the same. It tore a hole in my chest, exposing more oppourtunities for pain.

Blinded by my gushing tears, I made the long walk home in the rain. I placed his letter, those concluding words, in the front pocket of my dress. They were all I had left of him.

Both the skies, and I, cried liberally the entire day without end.

* * *

It took days before I could leave my room.

Charlie assumed it was emotion over ending my engagement. But frankly, Michael Newton was the furthest thing from my mind.

He made a few visits as well, pleading with me not to end the engagement. He demanded one concrete reason, and I refused to give him one. Michael wasn't a romantic, but he would never really understand my true motives.

Instead, I grieved endlessly. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. The only thing I longed for was _him_. His lips, pressed against mine, making all these troubles disappear like he always did.

Now he was far away, becoming the hero he always longed to be.

That sentiment furthered my despair.

After a week, I simply ran out of tears to shed. My eyes ran dry, and I felt anesthetized to all emotion, good and bad. The only thing I clung to was my memory of him. If only I could tell him how I really felt...

Inspiration struck, and I wrote several drafts of letters until the words came out just right. His letter was so eloquent, I could only try and return the action.

I walked to Dr. Cullen's mansion, in a less hurried and less excited mood than I had last time. Today it was Elizabeth that answered the door. I swallowed hard and spoke.

"Mrs. Masen?" I whimpered, clutching that torn up piece of paper. She looked at me sympathetically—she knew my situation, and yet she sympathized with me. It felt like a huge burden had been lifted from me. "Is there any chance you could do me a favor?"


	11. Wait

**Chapter Eleven - Wait**

It was a temperate September evening. Perfect evening weather outside our little shack. Most of the men were out cold, snoring stridently, exhausted from the long day. There were a select few of us that were immune to sleep's advances, and usually spent the night by the dull fire, talking and joking. Playing cards, telling stories, sharing flasks...

It helped distract us from our somber realism.

Major Whitlock, Jasper to me, laughed cheerfully as he took a sip of whiskey. "What are the chances?" Another drunken laugh escaped his lips, and the cheerfulness was infectious. "You visited _my_ hometown, and met my Alice?"

I nodded. "She's awfully quiet." I recalled the dinner party, her sheepish smile... It seemed like it had been a hundred years since that night.

Jasper looked quite confused by that. "You must not have met _my _Alice. Her letters are more like novels."

He handed me the flask, and I took a sip readily. The smooth brown liquid burned as it went down, but the relief came without delay. "When are you guys getting married?"

"June." He said wistfully. "She always wanted a summer wedding, and I'm getting a furlough for two weeks about then."

"Make an honest woman of her, and come back to the trenches. Not a bad way to begin the summer." I smiled wryly. The vulgarity of these men was slowly infusing in my head.

"Do you have someone back home?" He asked, his curiosity overbearing in his voice. I shook my head, afraid the truth of my rejection would escape. "Come on. Good looking fellow like you has to have at least thirty women lined up."

I took a deep and painful breath. Her alluring face, one I had suppressed in our time apart, came back to me. "There was one girl...Bella."

"Why the past tense?" He called out instantly, snatching back the flask. This subject would not be dropped, that much I could tell.

"It's a...long story." I spoke curtly, hoping to cut off his interest in my denunciation.

He looked down at his wrist, as if there were a wristwatch there to be read. Evidently, he had all the time in the world. He smiled, mocking at my direction, and motioned for me to begin. A long story would distract him thoroughly.

Feeling generous, I told him my tale. How in exactly three weeks I had fallen in love with a girl, and how she had gotten engaged to another man. I skimmed the details of my birthday party, the memory much too vivid not to cause me pain. I explained how by enlisting in the army, I was giving her a chance at happiness with her wretched fiancé. It felt like a tall tale, but in my heart I knew how real the situation was.

By the end of my story, Jasper's jaw was slackened and he was speechless.

"You know how fickle women are." He muttered, stumbling to his feet. He patted me on the shoulder sympathetically as he lurched towards the bunks. "Maybe she'll change her mind and _not_ marry the creep."

I could not envision a scenario where she changed her mind. I fell asleep with that painful anecdote playing vividly in my head.

* * *

The next morning, Sgt. Black appeared from his office, clutching a large burlap sack stuffed full. This meant only one thing.

"Mail call!" He called out, and all the men clamored. Letters from home, from mothers, from wives...

He handed me an envelope, and I recognized my mother's handwriting instantly. No doubt she was recalling wedding plans with Esme, or fretting needlessly. These suspicions were confirmed in her two-page ramble. I could practically hear her brisk tone as she wrote every word.

The letter concluded as she sent me her love, and I was about to pack the letter away when a third and unexpected page fell from the envelope. I looked at it curiously, not recognizing its inscription at first.

"Edward." I murmured to myself, shifting to a slightly comfortable position on my cot. I took in every word once I realized who had been holding this pen...

_Edward._

_I regret that it took me this long to realize how foolish I'd been. When I received your letter from Carlisle, I was on my way to tell you that I had realized what a mistake marrying Michael was. I was crushed when I realized where you had gone._

_Since you were so polite as to confess so wholly, please allow me to do the same. I ran off that day in the market because I was afraid. Not because I did not care for you, but because I did, and I was afraid to admit it. Perhaps it's because you're so far away, but I'm not afraid to admit it anymore. I am in love with you, Edward Masen. I suppose I always have been, and I've just been too blind to realize it. An ocean cannot separate us for eternity, I swear that. I _will_ wait for you. If I must spend a lifetime alone, I will wait for your kiss, your touch. There is nothing that would ever distract me from my love for you. I will wait forever, if need be. Know that._

_Forever yours,_

_Bella._

My heart soared, spirits elating past the gray sky above us. My only regret was the distance I had so quickly put between us. She loved me. I had scribbled words on paper as my confirmation.

Deep down, I was grateful at how right Jasper had been.

Women _were_ fickle.

* * *

I woke up later that night, long before sunrise, with a heavy heart. Every morning I rose to my own sober reality—hardly the glorious ideas I held—but easily contained my misery. My life had previously held little value, just another cog in the patriotic machine. But Bella's love filled me with new purpose, and I was surprised at how terrified I was to lose it. I could not lose _her_.

Then I noticed Jasper on his bunk, stirring with the same look of fear I held. Jasper, the most patriotic and courageous soldier in my unit.

He and I weren't so different after all.

"Jasper?" I whispered, not daring to wake up any of the other soldiers. My whisper was loud enough to capture his attention--he silently jumped to his feet, crept towards my bunk. Both of us sat on opposite ends of the cot, watching each other in the inky darkness. "What the hell did we get ourselves into?"

He laughed, hardly finding our situation comical. "I've been asking myself that same question for a while, kid. Try and get some sleep. You're gonna need it."

The grisly reality of war had taken away my remaining faith in humanity. How could anyone see all this violence, this futile bloodshed, and believe that war was valiant? How could someone like myself, holding the gun that had taken the life of some mother's son, be gallant? I did not feel deserving of the reverence heroes received.

And yet Bella's letter had given me conviction. There was more to my existence now, other than this bloodshed.

Jasper stayed at the end of my bed until my eyelids could no longer force themselves open. Bella's sweet words serenaded me until I drifted asleep, to a place much more serene than here.

* * *

It was a dismal sense of accuracy I'd had this morning. Little comfort, given my current position.

It was all over. I knew the attack was coming. I saw those guns, that ire burning in the enemy's eyes. Everything happened fast, too fast, for much of a reaction. Some of the men fled--some successfully while others weren't so propitious. Some of the men, filled with undying patriotism, held their station while muttering final prayers under their breath.

For me, there was no choice. I had to face my destiny without flight.

My body hit the ground before I had any chance to escape.

I knew without a doubt that I would die. I faced my mortality, and would end up defeated. My side throbbed and ached in ways that no man should ever experience.

Yet in the shower of fire, I found no solace in the end of the world as I had experienced it. I did not find peace in heroism, in the strength of my comrades standing shoulder to shoulder with me in the field. There was no hope to be found in nationalism, or even behind the trigger of my gun. No. For me, there was only one source of hope.

I found peace in my Bella.

The last memory I would ever behold was not my entire life, flashing before my eyes in glorious remembrances. It was something much more delightful—a new memory, saved just for this exact moment. My dying breaths. And my imagination was much more benevolent than my impending death.

It was our future. A future that I had believed to be unattainable. She waited for me on a porch, wearing a light yellow sundress. Her flowing curls swayed in the ocean breeze. Her face was at ease, a faint blush in her cheeks, and lit up as I approached her. As if she had been living in darkness all her life, and I was the sun's first ray.

My heart had never been filled with such enduring love.

In my hands, I held a small bouquet of wildflowers—each carefully picked to please her completely. The same flowers I had held when I was seeking her forgiveness. She smiled brilliantly as I took a seat on the porch. Our porch. Her silver wedding ring—our solid metal bond, tying us together for eternity—brushed against the palm of my hand as I held hers.

And before everything faded to black, I was able to kiss my beautiful Bella one last time. One final kiss from the love of my life, even in reverie.

My dying wish was fulfilled.

**Sorry for the cliffhanger! Review and I'll post again tomorrow! **


	12. Explosion

**Chapter Twelve – Explosion**

_**Bella's Point of View**_

In a few short months, Alice had become like a sister to me. She moved to Grand Rapids to be with her fiancé, who had returned after a nearly fatal war injury. With her cousin engaged to Carlisle, and my frequent trips to visit Mrs. Masen, we had been in very close contact. Even with Elizabeth's departure back to Chicago, I frequented Carlisle's manor just to spend time with Alice and Esme.

I had gotten word, from both Alice and Mrs. Masen, that Edward and Jasper's unit had been attacked. It was very chaotic overseas, and difficult to obtain any information from the Army. No one seemed to know, or care to tell, where some of the men had winded up or if they had died. Alice had gone through a similar Hell, until she received a letter from Jasper, saying that he was in an English hospital. She sighed with relief but held my hand as I waited for my own reprieve.

Today I was visiting her, just a few short weeks after her wedding. She kissed my cheek at my arrival, smoothing hair away from my eyes, still slightly red from crying. "No word?" Her analysis of the situation was astonishing.

I slipped off my shoes, making myself at home. "No word."

No word on whether he had gotten my letter. No word on whether he was missing me the way I missed him. No word whether he was still alive. There was no unyielding proof that he was alive. But my heart refused to loosen its grip on optimism--there was still a chance he was alive.

She led me to the kitchen, where two frail pink teacups were waiting on the table. I sat down while Alice poured hot tea into the empty cups. "Talk." She said, abruptly setting one cup in front of me. Alice was always that way—desperate for any gossip she could get her hands on.

I had always put off the details of my connection with Edward. I claimed to be just a close friend whenever Alice or Esme asked, but Alice knew better. She was the most perceptive person I had ever encountered. When I had agreed to visit her this morning, it was very obvious her only agenda was to understand why Edward's absence upset me so.

And so I did. I told her everything. Every excruciating detail, down to the color dress I was wearing the night he had kissed me. She pursed her lips when I told her my first impressions of Edward, and sighed at his moonlit confession. A fine listener, she absorbed every word like a sponge.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her fiancé, Mr. Whitlock, creep into the room. I had not seen Alice's beloved Jasper since his return to Grand Rapids. His recovery was very slow, according to my dear friend, and he was not physically ready to endeavor outside the front door. The romantic wedding she had planned became house-bound, thanks to his recuperation. He mostly wandered around the house with his cane when he had the energy to walk.

Without interrupting my story, he seated himself alongside Alice, resting the wooden cane against the table. He did not seem as engulfed in my story as Alice had been, but he waited patiently until my story had run its course.

"Bella." He nodded, his brief way of greeting me. Apparently Alice had told him as many stories about me as I had heard of him. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure's mine." I replied politely. It was very difficult not to notice the bandages he still wore on his left shoulder, or the thin scar forming on his left cheek. But I had always been taught how impolite staring was, so I refocused on the teacup.

Alice was very affectionate with Jasper, even with how tender he was. Within seconds of his arrival, she was holding his hand. Her entire body settled slightly towards his, like Earth's gravity was incomparable next to his body heat. Jealousy burned behind my cheeks in a red-hot flash as he gave her a quick greeting kiss.

The three of us had barely engaged in innocent conversation when Jasper turned to Alice, significant purpose burning brightly in his eyes.

"Alice, love, could you grab my bag?" His other hand reached and patted the top of hers tenderly. She rushed off to get it out of loyalty, not out of obligation. She was wholly in love with him, and would do anything for him. Seconds later, she returned with a ragged brown knapsack. Jasper dug through it as quickly as manageable, intent on finding something. I watched in confusion as he searched, and eventually became successful. His smile seemed bittersweet to me somehow.

A folded piece of paper rested in his extended hand. "Please forgive me for this."

That baffled me even more. I took the offered paper, cautiously unfurling it in my trembling hands. What did he wish forgiveness for?

It was then I noticed the perfectly-scrawled writing was Edward's. My heart stalled. The tearful expression coming in was the same as those after a nightmare, something I had been plagued with for months now.

Which seemed to be coming true at this exact moment.

"I'm sorry I haven't spoken with you earlier, but I could not bring myself to share this with you. Edward and I were in the same unit, and we had a deal." He explained apologetically before I could read the first word. "If either of us didn't make it out, we'd get letters to the other's girl."

Alice grimaced, contemplating the scenario involving her own letter. My heart sank slowly, and I forced my distressed eyes to begin. Hope was soaring outside my reach now, but there may have been some hidden in this page. There had to be.

_Bella,_

_I pray that you never see this letter. That its pages rot in the bottom of Jasper's sack for all of eternity, completely forgotten. If you are, in fact, reading this, things did not go the way I had hoped they would. It always seems like the odds were against us, and it shouldn't surprise me that fate was unkind to me once more. I do hope that one day you can forgive me for leaving you, before we ever had a chance. A chance at happiness together. _

_But if these are, indeed, my parting words, then promise me this. You will move on, live your life, and be happy. I pray you know this, but your contentment is my highest priority, and I wish nothing more than that. You deserve all the pleasure in life, and my deepest regret is that I won't be the one to supply it to you. I love you with all my heart, and I will love no other. But if in my absensce you must find adoration elsewhere, I understand. Whatever brings you happiness will keep me at peace._

_With all my heart,_

_Edward._

My heart, which had been fractured by Edward's parting, broke even further.

Alice was over my shoulder, rubbing soft circles on my back, consoling me. I did not know that I had tears left to cry, but my body amazed me at that.

There _had_ to be hope. My fracturing heart needed hope to stay intact, and that hope was slowly slipping away from me. There was no way to convince myself, heart or mind, that there was a chance. A chance he was still alive. My heart throbbed at that, and exploded into nothing.

My chest sat empty without its vibrant feeling.

* * *

I don't recall how long I spent in Jasper and Alice's home. Neither complained or shooed me away at my absolute collapse. When I was stable enough to stand without Alice as a crutch, I managed to step outside. It was a cool November day or evening, I could not tell. The dark silver clouds obstructed all hopes of determining the exact hour.

On my journey home, I passed Dr. Cullen's home. My empty chest swelled with the memory of him. I was half expecting to see him at the edge of the path, greeting me and convincing me this was just a horrible nightmare.

Foolishly, I needed to ensure he was not hiding in that large estate. My sanity needed that. I ran to the door, expecting the worst but hoping for the best.

Dr. Cullen was not home—he was presumably on call. Esme answered the door swiftly, greeting me in a sweet but consoling way. She wrapped her arms around me, a customary greeting for her, and held me tight for a few soothing minutes.

It was foolish to think my voice was steady, but I spoke anyways. "Esme, would it be alright if I employ your piano in the cellar for a little while? I fear my teachings are slipping without the practice."

She knew I did not wish to practice. And yet she did not mention any of her conjectures as she let me into the house.

I walked down the basement stairs slowly, realizing how distant last June felt. My reluctance for piano lessons had been a rebellion against my father, not due to any distaste for Edward (as he had imagined). My feet dragged now, not because I was resentful to Charlie for forcing something onto me, but because I was afraid.

Afraid to face my solitude.

The piano sat there, lonely, a thin veil of dust growing. I lifted the cover, each slow motion very deliberate. The clean white keys exposed themselves, a very crooked grin on the piano's face. I sat myself down on the old wooden bench, the teal wood creeking at contact. I recalled his body, sitting so close to mine, as if he were sitting exactly to my right.

My fingers reached out nervously, trembling the entire distance. One key. A soft note resonated in the empty room, echoing. The sweet sound of Debussy filled my mind, and I imagined Edward's graceful fingers dancing on the keys instead of my clumsy hands.

Grief consumed me at that moment. I pressed my cheek against the ivory, cold against tear-soaked skin. A disheveled discord of notes resulted, but I was too numb to notice. Or care.

In a way, it felt like his hands were comforting me instead of the piano's face.

"Come back to me." I whimpered, my hand reaching to touch his. The cold ivory could not comfort me the way he could. I pleaded one more soft whisper. "Please come back."

**Thank you for all the delightful reviews! This is another cliffhanger, I promise there is a little bit more. So please review!!**


	13. Isolation

**Chapter Thirteen – Isolation**

This was absolute torture.

I sat in third row next to my father, slowly regretting my acceptance of Carlisle and Esme's wedding invitation. I could have feigned illness—I was incidentally quite good at that. I could have told Charlie the truth, how I wanted to stay home. How the pain in my heart was burning, especially today. But I didn't. I insisted on torturing myself, for the sake of everyone else's happiness.

The ceremony _was_ beautiful. Their eyes locked together throughout the entire service, unwavering and committed. The way their hands brushed easily, causing Esme to blush furiously and his eyes to sparkle, was endearing. Two people had never been so perfect for each other.

At that sentiment, my stomach turned. I was void of that contentment.

Part of me felt guilty, feeling so discontented at the happiest day of their lives. My presence was a venomous one, and it was only a matter of time before I spread my misery among everyone in attendance.

I should have stayed at home.

The reception had begun, a long line formed to congratulate the happy new couple. Charlie insisted we say hello, and we stood in line for what seemed like hours. After obligatory hugs and greetings, Carlisle began speaking with Charlie, casual as ever. But then his attention turned to me, like I was some childhood toy he hadn't seen in ages.

"Bella! I'm so glad you could make it." His smile was misleading, but his eyes told the hard truth: he was just as disappointed I did not have my guest of choice on my arm.

The most important guest ever.

"Congratulations, both of you. I could not imagine two people more deserving of your happiness." I forced myself to smile, even though my insides were aggrieved. Esme blushed, pressing her pink cheek against his suit jacket.

Watching them cling to each other made my loneliness surface even stronger than it normally did. On a manageable day, only the substantial things reminded me of my love for him. But there was a constant hole in my chest—some days the pain was bearable, and some days the ache crippled me.

Today, my chest was aching in ways I never knew I could ache.

* * *

No one really seemed too surprised or offended by my isolation from the party. It was no secret in this town that I was grieving. The white tables were arranged haphazardly on the great lawn by the lake. There had been a spot cleared in the middle for a dance floor, and many of the guests had begun using it liberally.

Mrs. Masen was the only one who attempted to converse with me.

"Dearest Bella." She sighed, holding one hand on my cheek. Her eyes possessed the same desolation I suppose mine did. But she was much better at suppressing it. Unlike me, she did not look like she would burst into tears at the drop of a hat. "This is a wedding—a happy time. I think Edward would want you to be happy."

I smiled half-heartedly at her consoling advice—it was the same advice he had given me in his last letter. But I knew deep down how unachievable happiness was, especially today.

I knew that while Esme and Carlisle had their dream wedding, I would not.

There was something in Elizabeth's eyes. Something besides the perpetual sadness we had. Secrecy. It was subtle, but there. Unfortunately my chest throbbed piquantly, distracting me from investigating. She excused herself, and scurried off to some other group of guests. She was much better at moving on than I was. I didn't want to move on.

I promised him I would wait. And I would keep my promise, even if it killed me.

"I hate parties." I muttered cynically under my breath, watching the guests sipping their champagne, the bubbly liquid rising to their heads. Absolutely blissful. It was nauseating, knowing how far away pleasure was for me personally, yet it was right within reach for everyone in attendance.

I decided that I was going to get up and leave. This was just too much joy for me to handle right now. Carlisle and Esme would understand.

"This is a party. Shouldn't you be dancing?" Someone's deep voice whispered in my ear, pressing his hand lightly onto my shoulder.

I turned to reply my detest for dancing—thinking some cousin or coworker was making an advance—when I found the stranger's face right near mine. His breath was hot and sweet as it blew in my face.

And those sweet, emerald eyes that I had missed so much, stared ardently into mine.

"Edward?" I hissed, unable to accept this. I had to pinch myself, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. If this were, in fact, a dream, then I would be in misery for the rest of the day. I braced myself for the pain of waking alone would bring.

I did not find it. I was awake right now.

And he was here. He was really here.

With absolute ferocity, I threw my arms around him, hot tears now streaming down my face. Tears that were now in joy, not remorse. Celebration, not grieving.

"Easy now." His body tensed. I retracted myself to see him wincing, clutching his side. Guilt inundated me. "I'm still recovering."

"Recovering?" I sobbed, unable to contain my riotous emotions.

"War wounds." He stated delicately, and in his eyes there was a hint that he did not wish to elaborate. Now that I knew he was here, that he was safe, I did not need an explanation. I did not even need oxygen—all I ever needed was right in my arms.

"I can't believe you're here." I sighed, as his hands brushed tears away from my cheek. The touch caused my knees to tremble uncontrollably. "I can't believe you're _really _here." The crying caught up with me, and the only way I could speak was with a hoarse whisper. Still, the words had to be said, even by force. "I have missed you so much."

"Well, it would be very discourteous of me to decline a wedding invitation." He smiled, and I realized how much I had missed that smile. All of his perfect white teeth, sparkling in the May sun, his full lips a delicious candy apple red. "But I must ask, _Miss_ Swan, if this..." His hand dropped from my face as he pulled out an old, dirty, tattered piece of paper from his pocket. "Was this a work of fiction or the truth?"

I was confused. To clarify, he opened the frayed page like a delicate package, and held it for me to examine. It was my handwriting, my words. As proof, I held up my left hand, hosting my empty left ring finger. His eyes sparkled as he examined how my skin looked. The way he was watching me, you would think he had lived his entire life blind, and was seeing for the first time.

Looking at his beautiful face, I suppose the same depiction could be used for me as well.

"I may be inviting disaster, but..." He took a deep breath, his hands dropping from my cheeks down to hold my hand. "Would you care to dance?"

I nodded thoughtlessly. With him, it did not matter that I was not especially graceful. His hands were very authoritative, and I would follow him undoubtedly.

The band began playing a slow, sweet song. The strings serenaded us as he led me towards the makeshift dance floor. Our feet stopped in synch, our bodies assembling into the correct position. One hand rested on the small of my back, the other in my hand. Our two bodies began to sway, and we fused into one being. There was not an inch of space between us, and I did not care. My cheek rested against his chest, tears streaming down and drenching his white dress shirt. I was just so _happy_.

Out of the corner of my eye, just for one second, I saw Elizabeth. She was standing at the edge of the crowd, watching us dance. And even though there was a considerable amount of distance between us, I could read her expression undoubtedly.

She was happy. Not that her son had returned to her, but that he had returned to _me_.

I buried myself back into Edward's chest, swaying until the end of the song. I had never been much of a dancer, but this was the most pleasant experience ever.

"You waited for me." Edward whispered, his lips resting in my hair. My body jolted with a thousand volts of electricity. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I would've waited a lifetime." I whispered, voice choked with tears. "I thought I would have to."

"I love you." His hand went from holding mine, to lifting my chin tenderly. I could look at nothing but his soft green eyes. "I promise I will never, ever leave you again Miss Swan. Never."

I smiled, a laugh escaping readily from my long-idle lips. "I like the sound of that, Mr. Masen."

**Anyone interested in the amazingly entertaining about how Past Poisons was developed through this chapter should review. Seriously, I will review reply every single review with it, it's that amusing. :)**

**Oh, and don't worry--there is still more! :D**


	14. Offer

**Chapter Fourteen – Offer**

It was torture, not being able to tell Bella I had come home earlier. But the look on her face at the wedding was imbursement enough.

I remember very little of the French hospital I had been transported to. The pain I endured blinded me to all recollection. The times where I was certain that death would come in an excruciating way—those memories were engraved in my head enduringly. At the time, I took that torture as castigation for abandoning Bella. My recovery was slow, constantly interrupted by infection. I should have been dead.

I was finally discharged in the beginning of April. I stepped out into the beautiful, blue-sky, spring day with high spirits. I had barely survived that cruel September night, and the months that followed it. But since I had, there was only one thing I longed to do.

I was going to make it back to Bella Swan and make her my wife.

It was a week before Carlisle's wedding when I made it back to the states. The journey seemed to be endless, from boat to train. I hitched a ride from Minneapolis to Carlisle's estate. When I stood at the base of his path, it felt like I was home.

I had given no word to anyone of my arrival; I merely prayed that someone had gotten message to my mother and Bella that I was not just another casualty of war. When Carlisle and Esme laid eyes upon me, I could tell from their expressions that my prayers had been futile. Everyone believed I was dead. I only assumed that Bella fit into that classification.

There was nothing I wanted more than to walk, no, run to Bella's house. Pound on her door, sweep her up in my arms, and never let her down. But of course, fate intervened. The night I returned, I fell ill. With nausea, headache, and ever, a romantic reunion was simply unmanageable. Still, the idea of surprising her so completely tantalized me. I swore Carlisle, Esme, and my mother to secrecy—no one was to know of my homecoming until I was well enough to tell them myself. I waited in isolation until my health returned.

The day of the wedding was my opportunity to reveal myself. And it was well worth the wait.

* * *

Shortly after, I found work in a bank in Grand Rapids. Carlisle and Esme welcomed me into their home, despite their own growing family. I did not find the guest room of Carlisle's estate to be the foreign locale I had at the beginning of the summer of 1918. It was my home now, one of the few places I found comfortable.

Living in Minnesota did have its downside—I missed my mother just as much as she missed me. But we had spoken the night of Carlisle's wedding, and we came upon the agreement that being away from Bella was not in anyone's best interest. My mother stoically returned to Chicago alone, leaving me with her best wishes.

And the summer of 1919 was much more pleasant, now that I was in the highest regards of Miss Bella Swan.

My prospects were good. Not as favorable as Michael Newton, but I could provide a comfortable life for my family. I stood at the Swan household, intent on making that dream become a reality.

"Sheriff Swan?" I rapped on the front door, despite it being wide open. Wandering into the open door with an officer of the law behind it was unwise. Especially considering the favor I came to ask of him.

"Edward! Come in!" Sheriff Swan greeted me like an old friend. I hoped this amity proved in my favor. "I'm afraid Bella's off visiting a friend."

"I know." Alice had assisted me there—inviting Bella over for tea, distracting her and giving me this alone time with her father. "I'm actually here to speak with you."

I took a seat on the chair across from his. He gave me an affable smile, and waited patiently for me to begin the conversation.

"I love your daughter, Mr. Swan. More than my own life. And I am here today because I would like nothing more than to have your daughter's hand in marriage."

There was no ineptness or uneasiness in the words I spoke.

He sat there, his jaw slightly agape, but he did not look angry. Or surprised, for that matter. "Well, Edward. I'm not gonna lie." He said, clearing his throat. "I'm surprised you waited this long to ask."

I smiled, my prospects looking bright. "Is that a yes, Mr. Swan?"

He smiled back, and shook my hand. "Welcome to the family, son."

* * *

I waited in the backyard for what seemed like an eternity. Being apart from Bella, even if it was only for a few hours, wreaked havoc on my nerves. I had spent too long without seeing her beautiful face, and each minute squandered away felt improvident.

When their front door swung loudly open and shut, I knew she was home. My heart raced at the thought of her, as if I were seeing her again for the first time.

She probably greeted Charlie with a kiss on the cheek, and a hug. Their relationship had mended immensely since I had arrived, or at least that's what Bella tells me repeatedly. I doubt my presence has that ability to mend.

"You have a guest. They're waiting for you outside." Charlie's booming voice was slightly audible from back here. In the window, I saw her sweet face peer out in my direction. Her smile grew as she approached me.

When close enough, she leapt into my arms, and I spun her around happily. "Good morning." She said chirply once I had planted her feet back on solid ground.

"I missed you." I whispered in her ear as she seated herself on the swing.

"It's only been a day." She corrected, throwing her head back in a great peal of laughter.

"A day is a very long time, especially when I am apart from you." I insisted, my free hand lingering towards my occupied pocket. But I held back—the opportunity did not feel right yet. Instead, my hand gave her a slight push, and she swung out even further. "Did you have a pleasant visit?"

She nodded, and glanced over her shoulder at me. "Jasper and Alice send you their best."

I grinned as Bella slipped off her shoes. Her barefeet danced in the air as she swung like a pendulum in that tire swing. The pale blue dress she wore made her skin a delicious cream color. I was amazed how after all this time, she managed to take my breath away so easily.

"What were you up to while I was gone?" She asked, curious and mischevious all at the same time. I could not love this woman any more.

"Tomfoolery, as always." I called back, teasingly. It was not in my best interest to reveal my true intentions quite yet. I needed to hold my hand from her just a bit longer.

She laughed readily. "Yes. The sheriff _is _a wonderful partner when performing acts of havoc in this town."

"I figure having the law on your side could never hurt."

We laughed together, our voices in perfect droll harmony. Her perfectly shaped legs slowed the swaying to a soft motion, barely moving. Her hand sought mine, and once victorious, she stopped moving completely. "Honestly. What could you and Charlie have discussed in my absence?"

I swallowed hard, my free hand slowly reaching for my ring-bearing pocket. The time was now. "I love you, Bella."

She blushed a beautiful shade of crimson. "You said that once already today."

"I know. And I promise every day of forever, I am going to tell you those words, because you deserve them." I had rehearsed what I would say at this exact moment, and the practice was apparent.

"What do you mean, every day of forever?" She spoke slowly, though she was hardly dense. Perhaps it was nerves. Perhaps it was knowledge of what was coming.

Words were even easier now that I had started. "I thought I was dead, that day I was dying. My life was slipping away from me, and the only sadness I felt was that I would never see your beautiful face again." My hand brushed her soft cheek, lingering on her warmth. "And when I was fading, you kept me breathing. You are my strength, Bella."

She took in a deep breath, overwhelmed with this confession. I continued irregardless.

"You have given me more happiness than I deserve. And I swear that until my dying breath, I will fight to give you the same gratification that you have bestowed upon me. Because that is what you deserve."

"You offer me more than _I _deserve." She muttered under her breath, tears inundating in her chocolate brown eyes.

"Bella..." I spoke her name with so much reverence. The gentleman in me took over, and I found myself on bended knee. I rested in the dirt at Bella's feet, and pulled the diamond ring I had toiled diligently to afford. When the small black box opened, the sparkling diamond shone in the sun, reflecting on her cheek. Tears began to flow freely at this. "Isabella Swan, I promise that I will love you every day of forever. Will you marry me?"

Her response was soft but quick. "Yes."

That one word was enough to fill my heart with undying rapture. I could not jump to my feet quick enough. Once I was out of the dirt, I scooped Bella into my arms and kissed her ardently. Our lips attached as if they were the strongest magnets imaginable. The pull she held was too strong, and I was too weak to attempt to break it. The world spun around us in that moment of pure rapture.

Isabella Swan was going to be my wife.

And that sentence made me feel like the happiest man on the face of the earth.

**Alrighty. I've got one more chapter left in this little ditty... Sorry it took me so long to update! Homecoming plus massive art project deadline equals NO spare time to proofread a chapter. :( Luckily, my ring is done and homecoming is over. Having free time is beautiful--I've missed it. :P Anyways, please review!**


	15. Closure

**Chapter Fifteen – Closure**

Rise and fall. The steady, consistent sound of my beautiful wife's breathing was the sweetest metronome imaginable. My heart would forever sing at that delicate sound of the air escaping her soft pink lips.

What I had done to deserve this happiness, I would never fully understand.

Our engagement was shorter than most. Long enough to plan the small, close-friends-and-family-only wedding she and I desired. No extravagant ceremony, no pomp and frill like most weddings were. No. All that mattered to us was the eternity together laid out before us. We married in the spring of 1920, and it was one of the happiest days of my life.

The sharp piercing cry from the basinet stirred me. Bella was sleeping so soundly at last, and I did not want her disturbed. She had spent the last week ensuring everything was perfect for our visitor's arrival. But to me, every day was absolute perfection with her. Regardless, I rose to my feet, and carried the wailing little girl to another part of the house—our house.

It hadn't taken long for our family to grow. Within six months of the wedding, Bella was pregnant and blissful about it. The thought of fatherhood terrified me at first. The relationship I'd had with my father was tenuous and petrifying. Would I be capable of abandoning Bella if things became tough, if money wasn't attainable? Was our love strong enough? She insisted that I was nothing like my father. She reassured me throughout the pregnancy that our love was strong enough to get through anything.

But then I met her. Our beautiful daughter. One look at her pale pink face, and I was hers. Looking at my beautiful daughter's face, I knew I could never leave. I was irrevocably tied to the little girl with my copper-colored hair, and Bella's unfaltering beauty.

About a month after Claire's birth, an impassable offer arose. Emmett had abandoned his dreams of athleticism and settled into the family real estate business. We had kept in contact after my deployment to France, and at some point I mentioned Bella's dream of living in Maine. He stumbled upon a beautiful—and affordable—cottage for us, in a prime coastal location. Before he began showing it to other couples in the region, he offered it to Bella and I.

The discussion did not last long. By the end of the week, I put in for a transfer, and we were preparing to move.

It seemed a fair trade: Bella had given me perpetual devotion and a beautiful daughter, and I had given her a house on the ocean and a childhood dream fulfilled.

I swayed my little girl back and forth, humming her lullaby softly under my breath. She always fell asleep with that sweet melody she had inspired. It was so easy to lose myself when I was around her. Short of her mother, Claire was the most beautiful creature ever to exist.

The slight squeaking of the rusty door hinge jarred me from my reflections.

"Unca Edwad?" I heard James' sad little cry from the guest room doorway. From the sound of Jasper's snoring, both his parents were fast asleep. Their travels from Grand Rapids to our home for a holiday visit had exhausted them, but clearly did not do the same to their little boy.

With Claire still in my arms, I crept slowly towards him, the old floorboards creaking softly beneath my feet. "What's wrong, buddy? Can't sleep?"

"Bad dweam." He whimpered, waddling closer to me. He wrapped his tiny little arm around my leg, and pressed his cheek against my knee. "Bad dweam..." He sobbed again, his little tears starting to fall.

"It's okay." I stroked his honey-blonde hair as he reminisced about the nightmare. "It was just a dream. No monsters can get you here, you're safe now." That was the sentiment I had been consoled with as a child, and it seemed to comfort James now.

"Mommy and daddy still seeping." He noticed when I stepped slightly towards the bedroom door. "Don't wake up—daddy get cranky."

I smiled, remembering the wrath of a startled Jasper back in France. He was always the petulant sleeper in the unit. Waking him early was a nightmare.

So putting him back in his bed was not an option. With him attached to my leg, I attempted to keep as quiet as possible, as I returned a sleeping Claire to her crib. As soon as she was safely tucked into her soft pink fleece, James and I crept out into the hall.

"You know, I bet Santa Claus hasn't come down the chimney yet."

"Santa!" James exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with childish innocence. In the excitement of visiting, both he and I forgot that it was, in fact, Christmas Eve. Of course, with Bella and Claire in my life, I needed no other present. I had already received the greatest one.

"Want to go wait for him downstairs?" I asked, already knowing the answer. With James on my back, I tiptoed down the stairs to the empty living room. Of course there were no toys out yet—I hadn't gotten around to laying them out.

"Santa no come this year." In James' eyes, I could see the little tears forming. "He don't know I here. No pwesents for me."

I shook my head, lifting his chin up with one finger. "He has to go to every little boy and girl's house all over the world. That's a lot of places to go in one night. Give him time. He'll come." I smiled, desperate to reassure the little boy,

"I wait white here." James declared, hopping onto the faded gray sofa. His little arms crossed his body emphatically. "Santa come and I catch him!"

His wait for Santa did not last long. Within five minutes of sitting, his pink lips stretched into an O. His little cheek pressed against the couch cushion, and he was out. Watching Jasper and Alice's little boy, just a little under two years old, sleep was beautiful.

It made me even more eager for the future.

---

"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" Emmett declared boisterously, clutching a heap of presents in one arm, and his fiancée Rosalie's hand in another. Everyone was resting in the living room, short of Bella, who was producing the most heavenly smells in the kitchen. The gentle sound of Christmas music came from the phonograph, the room filled with laughter and music. Gathering our dearest friends for dinner had been an absolute brilliant idea on Bella's part.

Bella stood in the doorway, looking just as beautiful as the day I had met her, and declared that everyone should start heading towards the table. And as everyone settled in to the dining room, I recalled the fateful night I had met Bella. It seemed to come full circle, and we had finally reached the good part.

Before Bella, ecstasy always felt so distant to me. I never felt as if I deserved it. I convinced myself that I was the reason my father had left, and that I did not merit any joy in my life because of it. Even my experiences in the Great War led me to believe, at times, that I was not commendable for the love Bella gave me.

I realize now that my past was a poison, trying to infiltrate my system and ruin the contentment I had worked for. But I had the antidote—the happiness my wife and daughter brought.

I had received the happiest of endings imaginable. I was truly blessed.

**Okay, everybody! I'm glad you all enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it! The reviews have meant so much to me, and I just want to say THANK YOU!! I'm working very diligently to finish my other few stories, as well as some other ideas lingering in my head. But life keeps on interfering, so just be patient. :D**

**~Iwillbetherewhereyouare**


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